Great and Precious Things
by eriddle46
Summary: Dean, Sam and Cas, with the help of their friends, must save the angels and themselves from Abaddon's bloody reign of terror, and stop Metatron from expelling the human souls from heaven. Season 9 REWRITE. Updates Saturday. (Eventual Dean/Cas)
1. Rise

_(Notes: Dean must find a way to save Sam from the effects of the trials; While on his way to the bunker, Cas meets a highly unexpected stranger.)_

* * *

1: Rise

Metatron sits on a strip of sand, his shoes kept just out of the lapping water. He can taste the ocean salt on his lips. Beside him hides a form constructed of shadow. Unrecognizable. Just lonely, faceless, curves of black.

"You know what I love?" Metatron's voice breaks through the beach's peaceful silence.

The shadow does not reply. It simply twitches with the wind.

"A good story." Metaron grins, his eyes narrowing. "The twists, the turns, the heartbreak. It was my favorite thing about living on earth. Shakespeare, Faulkner, Orwell, Rowling. Loved 'em all."

The tide rises, inching closer to Metatron, but he does not back away from the white-and-blue foam. He doesn't fear its depth, its power or its infiniteness. He fears nothing anymore. Heaven is his.

"But now it's my turn to tell a story. You see, it all started with an angel who pulled a hunter out of hell. If it wasn't for that one angel doing that one thing, none of this would have been possible. But this story isn't their story anymore. It's my story now. And it's going to be a good one."

###

Dean's knees are cracking into the concrete. He doesn't care. He only cares about Sam. Sam whose body is weak and broken from the trials. The trials that should have been Dean's burden to bear.

It's Dean that should be dead. Dean that should have died to close the gates of hell. Now, Sam is barely alive, and the gates are as open as ever.

"Sam, no. SAM!" Tears burn at Dean's eyes as he clutches his brother's face.

"Cas," he prays. "Cas, it's Sam. He's- Please."

No answer.

Dean has no time to wait. He drags Sam's limp body into the Impala. He speeds, he whips around corners, he blows through red lights until he gets Sam into the ER.

For hours, for two whole days, the hospital does everything it can for Sam, until a doctor comes to Dean and says, "It's time to accept the inevitable, and let your brother go peacefully."

Anguish wracks through Dean's body. He grips the wall just to keep on his feet, to keep the universe from splitting apart at the seams. He won't lose Sam. He won't.

Wild, mad, eyes bloodshot from 48 hours without sleep, Dean stumbles into the hospital chapel. He falls on a pew in the front row, hands gripping onto the wooden seat. He looks up at the pastel-colored stained glass and at the white winged angel formed into its colors. He holds onto that image as he begins to pray,

"Cas, I know you're listening. You have to be listening. I need you. Sam's in trouble, he's dying, man." Dean's voice breaks. He bites his lip, hard, hoping the pain will ground him. "Cas," he gasps for air, "Castiel." Dean pauses, a tear escaping his eye. "Anyone. Please."

He hears that familiar whip, that breath of air that heralds the arrival of angel. His heart jumps in his chest, but when he turns around, it's not Cas. Disappointment engulfs Dean.

"I know I'm not Castiel,"the angel says. He has short wavy brown hair, a small smile and a line of forehead freckles. He's wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. "But if you let me, I can try to help you, Dean."

Dean's mouth falls open, just a bit. Would this angel really help him? He needs the help, but he also needs to know.

"Where's Cas?"

###

Castiel's fingers carve into the dirt as he tries to pull himself to his feet. He blinks. Why can't he remember what happened? Well, he can remember some of it. He remembers the pain of falling, the scorch of his wings. He can still feel it, really. His skin is alive with pain.

But he has a feeling it's been awhile since he fell. His clothes are caked in dirt, his eyes are sticky and heavy.

Cas forces himself through a line of trees to the edge of a road. He stands on the side, cars fleeing past him, refusing to stop. Why would they stop for him? He's dirty and limping and smells.

Everything is so loud. So bright. Flashing and whining and whirring. It's like a thousands fists punching all across his body. But Cas keeps following the road, eventually he'll get somewhere he can call Dean, and then… well Cas didn't know what would happen then.

He'd caused the angels to fall. It will not matter that it was an accident. His brothers and sisters, his hurting brothers and sisters, will need a scapegoat. Fear shudders through him like broken bones. Once again the hosts of heaven will hunt Castiel.

Memories flash across his mind, bringing with them jolts of pain.

. . .

"You don't have to do this," Castiel begged.

"Yes, I do."

"We can fix this. Fix our family. We're family, Metatron."

. . .

Those words had felt like glue on Castiel's tongue. Family isn't Metatron. Family is the Winchesters. Family is Dean.

. . .

"Please," Cas's voice shook as Metatron brought a blade to Cas's throat.

"I liked you, Castiel. I'm sorry. I'm sorry it has to be you."

. . .

Cas squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think about other things. The smell of a cheap hotel room. The feel of the Impala's seats. The sound of Dean's voice. Anything else.

Cas has probably walked for 12 hours straight. He can hardly feel his legs when he arrives a run-down gas station. Rust covers the pumps and the whole place smells like cigarettes and fuel.

His mouth burns, sticky yet dry. He knows it now. Something he's never understood before: thirst. It's so desperate, needy, real. He stumbles toward the whirring cold glass doors. He grabs a water bottle, tears off the cap and pours the water straight down his throat.

The water is cold, wet, perfect. He can feel it coating his throat and his stomach. This is even better, even stronger, than thirst. It's the quenching of thirst.

"You gonna pay for that?" asks the red-faced man working behind the counter.

Cas freezes. He never even though of that. Not for a second. He'd just needs water. "Umm."

"You have to pay for it," the worker snarls.

"I've got it," a smooth voice says.

Drinking the last bit of the water, Cas looks straight ahead where he sees a man with ash-blond hair and sharp, but nice, features. The man is wearing grey-thick rimmed glasses, expensive-looking jeans and a forest green sweater with the sleeves pushed up.

"You don't have to."

"I think he does." The worker's eyes narrow.

The man smiles. "See. I have to."

"Well, thanks."

The man lays a credit card on the counter then looks back at Cas, an almost sad smile on his face. "You should get something to eat, too."

"I couldn't."

"You're not hungry?"

Cas isn't quite sure, but he does feel a terrible, hollow ache just below his rib cage. He kind of remembers feeling like this once before, with the horseman of famine.

"I'll just get." He looks around. He's not quite sure what to eat. "Um." He sees something in small white paper packages, with the word pie printed on them. Cas picks up those.

The man laughs. "You don't want something more substantial than pie?"

"But pie's good, isn't it?"

"It tastes good, but I'm not even sure that is really pie."

Cas's brow furrows. What does he mean it isn't pie?

"But if that's what you want," the man continues.

"Thank you," says Cas. "You're very kind."

In his years on earth, he's seen a lot of good people, but he's also seen a lot of terrible ones and it's always hard to tell the difference. So Cas is smart enough to be leery of this man, despite how nice he seems.

The bathroom door squeaks open and a woman walks out. As soon as she does, the worker looks away from the cash register. The woman nods at the worker, and the "nice" man shoves Cas to the ground.

Cas sits up, trying to climb to his feet.

He looks right at the worker, and then at the woman. "You should get out of here."

"Leave them alone," Cas manages.

The man glares at Cas. "Be quiet."

"You have no idea who you're dealing with," the woman hisses. She pulls her hand out from behind her back. An angel blade?

Cas scrambles backwards.

"Just leave Castiel with us, and we won't be forced to kill you," the angel-girl says to the man.

"You're not forced to kill me. It's your choice," the man says.

So this man is trying to protect him? There's no way he knows what power he's dealing with. He'll get killed.

The worker angel rushes around the counter and zooms toward Cas. The man sticks out of his hand and the hilt of the girl's angel blade flies perfectly into his palm. Cas can't see what's happening now because the worker angel is bending over him, his hand reaching toward Cas's forehead. Cas slams his tired fists against the angel's chest, but it's no use.

Silver light bursts through the angel's eyes and chest. He collapses almost on top of Cas. He barely rolls out of the way in time.

The girl-angel attacks the man, but he's fighting back well. Clearly trained. She's thrown against the wall, spools of unsold rope unroll and then twist around the girl's ankles and wrists, holding her in place.

The angel-blade flies back to the man's hands. "No," he says. "You have no idea who you're dealing with." He shoves the blade into the angel's chest, and that's it. She's dead.

Cas stands there, blinking. Questions tumble through his mind at speeds he can't understand. What just happened?

"Who are you?" Cas asks, his mouth and eyes wide.

The man turns around on his heel and says, "Oliver James. Garth sent me here to help you."

###

The first thing Dean did after talking to this angel, whose name was Ezekiel, almost half a day ago, was call Garth. Apparently, the angels had fallen. All of them. Just dropped out of the sky. Cas could be hurt or dead – or anything. Somebody needed to find him. Dean would go himself, but he had to deal with Sam.

Now he nervously waits to hear if Cas was found. He waits to see what Ezekiel can do to help Sam.

In the chilly hospital room, Ezekiel lays his hands on Sam's forehead, his chest, he touches Sam's wrists.

"So?" Dean asks.

Ezekiel looks up at Dean, his mouth set in a frown. "Oh, Dean."

"What is it?"

"He's very sick."

Dean bites down on the insides of his cheeks. "Do something about it!"

"I can't. I'm not that strong. Not right now." Ezekiel reaches toward Dean who jolts back. "I'm sorry."

Dean can't get air into his lungs fast enough. "You're telling me there's nothing you can do?"

Ezekiel sighed. "There's not nothing, but-"

"But what? Do it!" Dean shouted.

"It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"Because think about it." Ezekiel spoke through shut teeth.

Dean runs a hand through his hair and stumbles back. He remembers when Jimmy Novak was dying, how Cas had kept him alive.

Ezekiel continues, "You're Sam and Dean Winchester. Of the 'we told Michael and Lucifer' to shove it Winchesters. Think about what you're considering."

"I can't let my brother die."

Ezekiel's voice is almost a whisper. So quiet Dean has to move closer to hear it. "You know he's going to heaven, right? That everything would be okay for him?"

But, no. You don't just give up. You keep fighting. Always. Always. Always.

"No."

"Before you decide," Ezekiel says. "There's something I need to show you."

"What?"

Ezekiel's face hardens. "Exactly how much you're asking of your brother. You need to ask yourself how much you're willing to take from Sam so you don't have to feel alone."

###

Here, the earth is burnt, bright lines of hot orange finding its way through the cracks. The air is more sulfur than oxygen, more smoke than sky. Within the blinding heat, stands dozens, hundreds maybe, of demons gathered from around the world. Through the smoke, their eyes are fierce, black, gleaming.

"This is the perfect time," whispers Abaddon to the pale demon at her side.

"For what?" he asks, his voice low.

She breathes out, her red hair a flash of heat in the darkness of the cavern. "To rise."

The pale demon turns his head and asks, "When the earth is filled with angels?"

Abaddon's body draws tighter, her chin lifting. Chaos drips from her skin. She steps forward, away from the thickness of the smoke. Her voice turns all the demons attention to her.

"Broken angels. Scared angels. Lost angels," she says, nearly as whisper so the demons they'd gathered that day would be forced into silence. But the pale demon is not, not yet.

"They are still strong, Abaddon."

She does not acknowledge the pale demon alone, instead she directs her response to fearsome, waiting crowd, her voice steadily rising.

"Listen to me all of you. Angels are petty. They have been shielded from emotion, from hate. But now that they feel it, now that they feel it the way that Lucifer felt it when he fell. That hate will consume them, and they will tear themselves apart. And we shall help them do it. What do you say?"

A murmur rolls through the crowd. "Yes."

"I said: WHAT DO YOU SAY?"

Even the pale demon twitches at the force of her voice.

"These weak humans will no longer have their faith to hide behind. The best of creations, the angels, have come nothing but pathetic, squabbling children. It is time now. Time to stop hiding. We will RISE up and do what we are meant to do."

"Yes, Abaddon!" The crowd of demons shout. The pale demon lets the words whisper out on his lips.

"The days of peace on earth are done. We will take what is rightfully ours. We will steal, and we will destroy and we will devour. Are you with me?"

"YES, ABADDON!" They all shout. All of them.

Her arms are up in the air, the crowd is wild and restless before her. A fresh explosion of hate and greed in all of them.

"Then, rise. RISE," she commands.

Like a rush of boiling ocean, the word ' rise' roars through the black cavern. Over and over until they are a chorus loud enough to shake the earth for miles.

Rise. Rise. Rise. RISE!

###

As he ate the small packaged pies, Castiel sat in the passenger seat of Oliver James's car, which was very different than Dean's. It was shiny and silver and, instead of hamburgers, the inside smelled like new leather.

"I'm sorry. I need to know. What are you?" Castiel asks. "A witch?"

"A wizard," Oliver responds calmly.

Cas narrows his eyes. "There's no such thing as wizards."

"A wizard is just." Oliver sighs, looking a bit frustrated. "Witch has a certain connotation to it."

"Like what?"

"Like bad. Like black magic."

"But you're not into black magic."

He shakes his head, looks out the window. "No."

"You're like… I don't understand?"

Oliver chuckles quietly, almost so Cas can't hear it. "Gandalf, but with an expensive haircut and better shoes."

Hours later, they stop at a hotel. Oliver is too tired to keep driving, and keeps veering slightly off the road. So they stop when they get into the city, Denver, and they rent a room in one of the high-rise hotels downtown. It's nothing like the cheap motels Cas stayed in with the Winchesters. The room smells like cedar, the carpet is royal blue and the bedding pure white. But despite the elegant trappings, Cas suddenly remembers what he should have done in the car, but was too tired to even think about.

"I want to call Dean," Cas says as firmly as he can.

Oliver drops his luggage on a chair. "You should take a shower first."

Cas isn't about to back down. He needs to know it's all right. "No. I really need to talk to him."

Oliver shrugs and pulls his phone out of his pocket. "Well, sure, Castiel if you insist."

"I do."

He hands the phone to Cas and walks back into the hall. Cas looks down at the phone's home screen. It's Oliver, his arm around a brown-haired girl with a high ponytail. A little sister, a girlfriend, maybe? Though she's a bit young for a girlfriend, the girl doesn't look much like Oliver, except her smile. It doesn't matter. Cas is just trying to get a handle on who he's with right now.

With shaky fingers, Cas dials Dean's number. It's not something he'll ever forget.

When Dean picks up before he can say a word Cas says, "Hello, Dean."

"Cas, you're okay." His words are rushed, and Cas's come out without a thought:

"I'm not an angel anymore. I lost my grace." He sounds so broken because he's breaking.

"How do you feel?" Dean asks.

Cas can't think of a lie so he just tells the truth. "It hurts."

"Cas." He says his name like an apology, and that is all Castiel ever needs.

"Don't worry about me, Dean. Just tell me about Sam." Oliver had brought him up to speed on that in the car. "Will he be okay?"

There is a pause where Cas wonders if he lost the call, but the Dean speaks again:

"Do you know an angel named Ezekiel?"

"I do. He's one of the good guys."

"You're sure?"

"I am."

"I need his help, but I'm not sure. I'm not sure what the right thing to do is, Cas. Tell me the right thing to do." Dean's voice is distant, but full pain. What Cas would give to wipe that pain away!

"I wish I could, but you know my track record." And Cas isn't even sure what Dean means. "The bad decisions I've made."

"I just don't want to make this choice alone."

Cas searches, but can't find what to say. "Whatever it is, Dean, I know you. You'll do the right thing."

"You overestimate me."

Again, what is there, what is there to say, but his name and hope that says everything. "Dean."

"I'm sorry about your wings. I'll take care of this. Just come home. Cas, come home." Dean's breath shatters on the other end of the phone, but the sound still hits Cas hard.

"I will," Cas says then listens as Dean hangs up the phone.

His stomach is aching, hollow and empty, but this time he knows he isn't hungry. It's something else, something other, and he can't figure out where that emotion belongs.

Oliver walks back in the room, concern mapped out on his light-skinned face. "Is everything all right?"

Cas just shakes his head no, but doesn't offer more. Thankfully, Oliver doesn't ask.

"I'll take that shower now," he says.

Oliver smiles and nods. "I'll bring clothes in for you. I'm taller, but they should still fit."

Once he's in the bathroom, Cas slowly pulls his dirtied clothes off, turns on the hot water and steps in the shower. He loves the way the water slips and slides off his skin. He's been in the rain, but it's never felt like this. So hot it's a bit suffocating, breathing in mist, but he likes it.

During his shower, he hears the door squeak open.

"Your clothes," Oliver whispers and then walks back out the door.

Exhausted, Cas drags himself out of the shower and climbs into the clothes Oliver gave him, black sleep pants and a soft, light grey hoodie. They were significantly more comfortable than his coat and tie. He glances over at his trench coat; for some reason, it makes him feel sick.

Cas leaves his old clothes in a pile on the floor and heads back into the room. The lights are dim and Oliver has changed into other clothes himself. Light from the TV flickers around the room.

"What are you watching?" Cas yawns.

Oliver is sitting cross legged on one of the beds. "White Christmas."

Cas's head turns slightly. "It's July."

Slowly, he climbs into the bed. Exhaustion weights heavy on his limbs. It's a sensation he's just not used to.

"Christmas in July." Oliver flicks off the light and slides under the covers. "I've always loved this movie. You have a favorite movie?"

Cas tests out the way the pillow feel against his cheek and the bed against his sore back. "I watched Rocky with Sam and Dean once. I didn't like it that much."

Oliver chuckles softly. "I think you'll like this one."

Cas props up his pillow so he can watch the movie. It's soft and gentle. Different from a lot of what Dean would watch on TV. He didn't mind those shows, but right now he likes how this is simpler. The two leads in the movie, a man and a woman, are in an empty train car, standing near a piano. As the man starts to sing, so does Oliver, his voice low and soft:

"When I'm worried and I can't sleep  
I count my blessings instead of sheep.  
I fall asleep counting my blessings."

A small smile creeps its way onto Cas's face, though he has no explanation for it. He imagines it would be like drinking water if it were warm.

Oliver keeps singing, "When my bankroll is getting small,  
I think of when I had none at all  
I fall asleep counting my blessings."

A new sensation drifts over Cas, a bit like floating and sinking at the same time. As he falls asleep those words play in his mind… those somehow familiar words.

When you're worried and you can't sleep  
Count your blessings instead of sheep  
I fall asleep counting my blessings.

. . .

When he's certain Castiel is asleep, Oliver slips out of bed and into the bathroom. He pulls out his phone and dials.

"Hey," Oliver says.

"How is he?" the other person replies.

Oliver scratches his head, jumping up to sit on the bathroom counter. "Okay. Disoriented."

"I can imagine. Well, I can't really, but-"

Oliver lets out a long breath. How long has he been holding it in? "Yeah."

A pause.

"Does he remember you?"

Oliver shuts his eyes. If he opens his mouth, if he says the words, they're true. But they are true anyway. "No."

"Are you all right with that?"

"I'll have to be." What else is there?

"Thank you for doing this. You didn't have to."

Oliver's stomach churns. "I always have to."

###

Dean paces the hospital room floor, trying to calm himself by counting the squeak of his shoes on the floor. Ezekiel leans against the wall, just watching him. Dean's been going back and forth on his decision of what to do for a long time, and Cas hadn't been any help. Sam fought so hard against Lucifer, letting another angel in now – he would hate it. But Dean can't lose Sam.

"You'll have to make a decision, Dean." Ezekiel's voice is calm and even.

Nothing about Dean is calm and even. He is tearing apart. "I know that. Don't you think I know that?"

Ezekiel reaches out, puts a hand on Dean's arm. "I do, but maybe you need to think about why your making the decision you make, rather than just making a decision."

"Why? Sam could die."

"So," he says quickly.

Dean's fist twitches. He's about to deck this guy so hard in the face. Angel-trying-to-help-him or not. "What 'so'?"

"Sam's done more in his life than most people will do in twelve. Maybe it's time to give him some peace."

Dean could scarcely imagine a world without Sam. When Sam was in the cage, Dean had played a role with Lisa. That's all it was, despite the fact that he'd cared for Lisa and Ben. It was role, and he can't go back to that place, back to pretending.

"You need to show it to me now. Whatever you were going to show me earlier. I want to see it now."

Ezekiel nods. "Okay."

He reaches out and touches Dean, something strong and hot grips beneath his ribcage and pulls him somewhere else, somewhere he can immediately feel he does not belong.

It's Bobby's. Sam and Death, who looked just as Dean remembered the horseman, sit facing each other on a couch.

"Can you promise me, promise me, this will be the last time? No bringing me back. This is it?" Sam asks.

Death says, "I can, if you come with me."

Dean can't watch this. Can't let this happen. Can't just stand by.

"Stop. Sam, stop. Listen to me," Dean blurts, alerting both Death an Sam to his presence.

Sam's eyes widen as he looks at Dean. "Dean?"

Dean realizes he hadn't even discussed this with Ezekiel, not fully. "You'll do this? You'll help Sam?"

Ezekiel looks disappointed. "This isn't helping you but," he pauses. "Yes."

"Do it," Dean says harshly.

"I need Sam to decide, though," Ezekiel reminds him. Dean hasn't even thought of that, but now he has to figure out what to say.

"Sam, please. I need you to come back. I can't do this alone."

Sam says okay. Sam lets Ezekiel in, and Dean knows, somewhere in the back of his head or his heart, that this doesn't end well.

###

The house has been torn apart, broken windows and giant holes in the walls. Blood and the dead bodies of five angels litter the floor, mangled and destroyed.

"That's a hell of a rush," says the Pale Demon, leaning his head against the wall. Blood drizzles from his mouth down his neck; it coats his hands too.

"Incredible, isn't it?" Abaddon licks her lips.

"I'm just happy to be out from under Crowley," he says through gritted teeth.

Abaddon smirks, her eyes that deep coal black. "Didn't know you and Crowley were that close?"

The Pale Demon scoffs. "Not like that. I can do better than Crowley."

Abaddon slams him against the wall; her vessel slightly is taller than his when she wears heels. "Yes."

She attacks his lips with hers. They're somehow hot and cold at the same time. His hand pulls on her hair, tugs her closer. It's all fire and lust and falling. Falling, like he's heading somewhere, but can never find the bottom.

"They'll stop you," someone groans behind them. Abaddon and the Pale Demon separate to each side of the angel, making sure they had it cornered.

It was one of the angels they just slaughtered. Or meant to…

"We left one alive. Whoops." Abaddon shrugs, pulling an angel blade out of her leather jacket.

"They'll kill you. All of you," the angel forces the words out, though the angel blade torture has done most of its work on her.

The Pale Demon laughs. "Your weak angel brother and sisters? I highly doubt it."

"No. Not them." The angel's lips curl into a bloody smile. "The Winchesters."

Abaddon rolls her eyes. "Thought you feathered morons hated the Winchesters?"

The angel sits up, staring directly at both the demons. "We do. But, right now, I just wish I could be alive to watch them tear you apart."

Abaddon grips the angel's hair, yanks her up, her neck craning painfully backwards. She slams the blade into the angel's chest, and hot blue light explodes from the bloodied girl's body.

They'd killed another angel.

Hell is winning.

###

Dean stands by Sam's hospital bed, his lips reciting silent pleas that his brother wake up. Finally, Sam's dark lashes start to flutter and his sleep eyes open. Relief washes over Dean.

"Hey, Sam," says Dean. "How are you?"

"Dean, it's Ezekiel."

That relief is ripped away. "Where's Sam?"

"He was basically dead." Ezekiel sat up. "It will take time. What do you expect?"

"You said-"

"He'll wake up. You just have to give it time."

"How much time?"

"Not long."

"And then you'll be able to leave."

"And then I'll work on healing him."

Dean nods, his heart pounding. He's unsure if he made the right decision, but still it felt, it feels, like the only decision.

He looks out the window to see the sun is high. They've been up all night and part of the day. Dean is just starting to feel the effects of exhaustion. A few moments later his phone rings. Kevin.

"Hey man," he answers. "What's up?"

"Cas is here. He says there's something wrong with Sam, and I was just checking."

"He's sick, but he's, uh, fine now."

"How's Cas?"

"Human, it's strange, but Dean-"

"What?"

"He's not alone. Garth sent someone to find him, and now he's refusing to leave."

"Who is he?"

"Name's Oliver. Don't know much about him though. I did call Garth, and he vouched for him though."

Dean sighs. The last thing he wants or needs is more people around the bunker than are already there. But whoever this guy is, Dean can take care of him when he gets home.

"It's fine. Let him stay for now."

"Good," Kevin says. "Cas really seems to like him."

Something clenches in Dean's jaw, but he ignores it as best he can. "Uh, oh. Well, we'll be home today. Later." He hangs up the phone before Kevin can say anything else.

Ezekiel in Sam's body changes in to normal clothes. They plan to sneak out of the hospital without any of the nurses or doctors noticing. Dean doesn't need to explain Sam's miraculous recovery.

"Ready?" Dean asks.

"Yes, I think it's time," says Ezekiel. But he's using Sam's mouth to say it, Sam's voice, his body. Something hard and heavy drops in Dean's stomach.

He swallows. Has he made a terrible mistake? No. He made the only choice he could. He saved Sam.

He saved Sam, right?

###

Alone, Metatron walks the streets of heaven. He's alone here, besides the humans, and besides that shadow. There was a time when heaven was crowded. When angels walked freely in the presence of their father.

Heaven had once been glorious. Metatron knows his story now. Knows his purpose. He shall restore heaven – no matter the cost.

No matter the cost.

* * *

_Excerpts from 2: Pretty Soldiers_

_"The girl on the phone. Is that your girlfriend?" Dean asks, his eyes narrowed. "She's kind of young."_

_Oliver laughs through his nose, taking a coke bottle out of the fridge like he owns the place. Dean curls his fingers against his palms._

_"She should be. She's my daughter."_

_The girl's young, but not that young._

_###_

_"Oh." Kevin curses and stands up from the table, moving away from the tablet. "Sam!" he shouts. His heart is pounding. He can't believe it._

_Sam comes into the main room of the bunker, his face scrunched in confusion. "What?"_

_"It's about the spell that made the angels fall."_

_"You found a way to reverse it."_

_Kevin shakes his head. "No. It's not that. It's… it's about Castiel."_

_###_

_"Listen to me, Cas. If we want to get out of his alive, you need to listen to me." Dean grips Cas's shoulders, his eyes wild. He can smell it. Sulfur._

_"Is this a part of my training?" asks Cas._

_"Unfortunately. No." Dean starts to back up; Cas instinctively follows him._

_"What do we do?"_

_"Run."_


	2. Pretty Soldiers

Abaddon found this place, a cave at the edge of the sea. The walls are shiny black shale and the ground thick with moss. The air smells musty and salty. Harsh, heavy waves slam against the rocky shore, harsh and unrelenting.

"Are you sure about this?" The Pale Demon asks, his voice low.

Abaddon's hair whips around in a fiery blaze as she glares at him. "When will you learn not to question me?" she snarls.

The Pale Demon stands straighter, looks right at Abaddon. "I'm not like them. I won't just do what you say without consideration. You're lucky I do what you say at all."

She moves toward him in gust of speed until their bodies are pressed together. "I could kill you."

The Pale Demon doesn't look away, doesn't defect. Not today. "Do you even know who I really am?"

Abaddon steps back one small step. "There are. . . rumors."

He can hear a slight tremor in her voice. A lick of lost confidence.

"We work together or not at all," the Pale Demon commands.

Abaddon swallows and backs away from him. Her voice returns to a smooth, almost militant, tone.

"It's the next logical step."

The Pale Demon knows she's right. Knows what brilliant havoc and pain and torture these things could bring into the world. But then total devastation of the world is not what he wants either. "They could kill us. You understand that? They have that power?"

Abaddon's face doesn't change, as if she doesn't consider his concerns. Maybe because she doesn't care. Maybe because she already has considered the costs.

"They could kill the angels too, and we'll be prepared for them." A hiss, a snarl, a growl, all seem to live in her voice, constrict their way around every word coming from her mouth. "A new order, remember?"

The Pale Demon shuts his eyes for a brief moment. He could live with this. A New Order. An order where he can return freely to the world that was torn from him and reclaim what's rightfully his.

"A new order," he says with great reverence.

###

It's been a week since Sam and Dean came back from the hospital. Just over a week since Cas and Oliver came to the bunker. Cas has been doing this best to adjust to his new life as a human. The one thing he knows is that he has to learn how to fight without the benefit of his angel powers. So he's spent nearly everyday in this room with Dean, with it's weights and wall mirrors and black mats on the floor. There's even a separate section for target practice where Cas is now.

But no matter how much he practices, he can't seem to get a hang of this gun thing. He just can't shoot like Dean and Sam. And he's afraid Dean's getting frustrated with his inability to improve. Because Cas is getting pretty frustrated himself.

Cas runs his hand through his hair. They have been at this for five hours – and they've been practicing so much this week. Cas just wants to get it right, and he can't no matter how hard he tries. "Why is this so hard?"

"Because you're still not bracing yourself for the kick back," Dean replies.

Cas slams the gun down on a metal cart. The sound rattles through the room. "I'm never going to get this. I'm useless."

Dean shakes his head. He doesn't even look upset. How does Dean have this kind of patience with him?

"Why? Because you're not an angel?"

Cas shrugs. Being an angel is the only thing he knows how to do, and honestly, it seems he doesn't even know how to do that very well. Not if he counts all the times he let down Dean. The only person, the only thing, he can't bear to let down.

"Cas, if you want to hunt, you have to work for it. You can't just sprinkle magical fairy angel dust anymore."

Obviously. When he was an angel, he could protect Dean, he could heal him. And now he's just putting Dean in more danger. As if Cas needs more reasons to hate himself.

"What do you want me to do?" Cas asks, not meaning to sound as desperate as he does.

"Try again." Dean moves closer to him and slowly puts a hand on Cas's shoulder. Their eyes meet and hold, resting comfortably with each other. "This is how I learned. I shot a hundred times a day until I could shoot without missing. My shoulder's bruised, my hands ached, but I kept shooting because that's what you do if you want this life." Dean's hand runs from Cas's shoulder to his arm, his fingers barely sweeping by his hand, as a grip locked on Cas's wrist. Cas's breath breaks his throat. His skin tingles, and he's suddenly dizzy.

"If you don't want this life," Dean says softly. "I'll give you some money and a car, and you can go get a job, a house." Dean pauses, " . . . and get a wife and be normal."

That's what Metatron said to him. Cas tries to imagine it. He can imagine the house, the normal, a little, not much. But he can't imagine the wife. Even though he had one as Emmanuel. It's just hard for him, imagining a future. Or at least imagining one without the Winchesters. Without Dean.

"Dean," Cas breathes, looking down at where Dean's hand is still on his wrist.

Dean shuts his eyes, licks his lips and lets out an unsteady breath. "It's okay, Cas. If you don't want to stay. You don't have to have this life. It's not too late for you."

What if Dean doesn't want him here? What if Dean has lost patience for him?

"The angel's all want me dead. They'll kill me."

"You can hide."

Does Dean just want Cas to leave? Even if he does, Cas doesn't want to go. He can't even think about going. About being in a world, a life, that Dean was no a part of. He can't begin to think like that anymore. Not after what happened. Not after the crypt. Not after I need you.

But what if Dean doesn't need Cas anymore?

The questions pound into Cas's head and he just wants them to stop.

"Let's just keep shooting," Cas says, forcing his mind away from the thoughts. The thoughts are too much for him.

Dean's lips quirk into a small smile. He picks the gun up again and places it in Cas's hands. Dean walks behind him, their bodies nearly pressed together. Dean pushes his hand half way down Cas's back forcing him to stand straighter. It must be squishing his lungs somehow because Cas can't breathe.

Dean speaks, his mouth just inches from Cas's ear. "Hold your back straighter, your arms tight. Hold the gun firmly and look where you shooting. Remember what happened the last time you weren't looking."

Blood pools in Cas's cheeks. Yeah. He shot a few holes in the wall. "Sorry, Dean," he mutters and takes another shot. This time he hits the target. He has no idea how.

###

After another day of practicing with Cas, Dean takes a shower and checks on Sam. He's heading to his room for a nap when, from down the hall, Dean smells garlic and rosemary, maybe, something savory.

Who would be cooking? No one cooks in the bunker but him. Dean rounds the corner into the kitchen to find, amongst his stainless steel appliances and sleek countertops, Oliver James, intruder extraordinaire in his kitchen. And the worst part is how good it smells. (And that Cas is just sitting on the countertop watching. His hair messy and face still slightly flushed from their training)

"What are you doing?" Dean asks.

"Making Baked Ziti and cheesy garlic bread. It's-" Oliver pauses. "My favorite."

"This is my kitchen," Dean says gruffly. For the past week, Oliver's been walking around here like he owns the joint. He's been walking around Cas like he owns him too.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd mind; I made enough for everyone." There is a gentle politeness to Oliver's voice that really sets Dean on edge. Who is this guy? With his annoying little magical powers – that was what Dean really didn't trust. Oliver's magic.

"It's not a problem, Dean," says Cas. "He's just helping."

Dean looks over at Cas. "Can you go find Sam and check on him for me?"

Cas's brow furrows, but he slides off the counter. "OK." He leaves Dean and Oliver alone in the kitchen.

A wooden spoon is stirring pasta sauce in a larger copper pot all on it's own. Dean pulls it out of the sauce and throws it in the sink.

"Can you not do that in here?" Dean growls at Oliver.

"Not all magic is dangerous and evil, Dean. No wonder Cas was afraid of me at first. With you whispering in his ear," he says the last part under his breath.

Dean steps closer to Oliver, getting nose to nose with those stupid grey frame glasses. "Cas was not afraid of you. He was just smart enough not to trust you."

Oliver's expression doesn't change, but another wooden spoon flies out of the drawer and drops back into the pot of sauce. Dean glares at Oliver, but steps back from him.

"He trusts me now," Oliver says.

"Yeah, well, I don't. What are you even doing here? Why do you care?"

"I'm here." Oliver crosses his arms over his chest. "Because Garth asked me to be, and it's Garth so I do it."

Dean shakes his head. "Nah, man. It's more than that. I can tell."

"Think what you want." Oliver turns his back on Dean.

A loaf of French bread starts slicing itself and Dean has the urge to punch Oliver in his smug little face.

"Cas said you had a girlfriend or something? Go bother her. Why dontcha?"

"A girlfriend?" Oliver turns back around, looking truly surprised to Dean's chagrin.

"The girl on the phone. Is that your girlfriend?" Dean asks, his eyes narrowed. "She's kind of young."

Oliver laughs through his nose, taking a coke bottle out of the fridge like he owns the place. Dean curls his fingers against his palms.

"She should be. She's my daughter."

The girl's young, but not that young.

"And when have you seen my phone?" Oliver continues.

Oops.

So yeah, Dean had swiped it to make sure Oliver even had Garth's number in his phone. He does, unfortunately, which means Dean can't kick the crap out of him right here and now.

"How is that girl your daughter?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but magic, remember? I'm older than I look."

Dean's hands clench into fists. "Staying eternally young requires dark magic."

"Yes it does."

Dean starts shouting, "The only reason I tolerate you being here at all is because you said you don't use dark magic."

"I don't."

"Someone else did that to you?"

Oliver sighs. "Not that it's any of your business."

"Is everything okay?" Cas is in the kitchen doorway. Oliver and Dean both tense.

"It's fine," Oliver says first.

"Yeah, fine."

"Sam's good. He said you just checked on him."

"Can't be too careful," Dean mutters.

Oliver glances over at Dean, his eyes slightly narrowed. Then he looks back at Cas and smiles. "You want to help me make dinner?"

Cas nods and walks over to Oliver.

Dean bites the insides of his cheeks. He puts his hands in his pockets to keep from punching the wall. Why is he so angry?

"I'm calling Garth," he grumbles as he reluctantly leaves Cas and Oliver alone together in the kitchen.

Once back in the quiet hallway, he dials Garth.

"Hey, Dean. How's Sam?" Garth answers.

"He's fine," says Dean harshly.

"Well, then what can I do for you?" He still sounds so upbeat it's grating.

"Did you tell Oliver to stay here?"

There's a pause. "Yes."

"Why? We don't need him."

"You do. Sam's weak – and you do."

"I don't trust him."

Garth's voice is calm, soft. "You can. He's one of the good guys."

Dean doesn't know what else to say so he just hangs up. Why is he the only one who can see there is something very off with Oliver James.

###

Kevin sits hunched over at one of the round tables in the bunker's dimly lit library. He has a piercing headache and the book-filled walls seem to be getting closer by the minute. He takes a deep breath, trying to focus. The air smells like old tea and it's making him sick.

He's been trying to translate this tablet forever. He's getting somewhere, but it's like pushing molasses up a sandy hill. (His old Advanced Placement English teacher used to say that.)

"Hey, Kev, you in here?" It's Sam.

Sam's hair is messier than usual and dark rings have formed beneath his eyes. He just hasn't been the same since the whole closing the hell gates debacle.

"Yeah."

"Come eat dinner," Sam says.

"I'm not hungry." That isn't really true. Kevin's not sure how he feels really. "Too tired to eat."

"Trust me," Sam sits beside him, "I know how you feel. I've been beat for a week."

"I'm sorry," Kevin says. Maybe focusing on someone else's problems will make him feel better about his own.

"It's no problem. Honestly, I feel fine. Just tired and I don't remember being in the hospital at all. Guess I've really been out of it, huh?"

Kevin's eyes narrow as he looks at Sam. "I guess so." Something feels off with Sam, but it's probably just Kevin's exhaustion and his blurry vision from all the tablet reading. If something's wrong with Sam, Dean would see it. Dean would be the first person to do something about it.

Sam pats Kevin on the shoulder. "You'll feel better if you come out and eat with us."

"I'm not sure being around the Oliver and Dean's whatever it is, would make me feel better."

Since their arrival, Dean and Oliver have been snidely at each other's throats for one reason of another. Somehow though Cas didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah. That's - I honestly don't know." Sam laughs under his breath. "What you working on?"

Kevin rubs his fists over his eyes, causing a light show of color against the darkness. "I think this part was something to do with the spell Metatron used."

Sam scoots his chair closer to Kevin's. "Really?"

Kevin looks up at Sam and nods. Sam relaxes; more than Kevin has seen him relax in the week he's been back from the hospital. Even his eyes seem softer.

"It's just-" Kevin rubs his eyes again. He's so tired. "This section's coded differently or something. Every time I try to read it, my head starts spinning and all the words blur together. I'm not sure I can do it."

Sam lays a hand on Kevin's shoulder. "You can. You just have to keep trying."

Kevin snaps. "All I do is try and I'm sick of it!"

"Kevin," Sam says softly. "Sometimes when I'm doing a lot of research late at night and start to get tired, I try reading it backwards. It helps me to keep my train of thought."

"Reading backwards?" Kevin scoffs. "Yeah, that's going to give me less a headache."

Sam stands up from the table, his body becoming slightly more rigid. "For now. Why don't you take a break? The tablet will be here tomorrow and the day after that, but if you don't eat, you might not be."

Kevin's bones ache with exhaustion – a break does sound nice. "What about Dean and Oliver… and Cas?"

"You can't leave me alone with those guys. Come on, help me, buffer – or I'll have to drag Crowley out to have dinner with us.

Kevin half-smiles. "Yeah, cause Crowley makes things better."

Sam leans against the doorframe. "You see my problem, then. Come on."

The tablet should come first, but Kevin can't take it anymore and he needs to take care of himself. Kevin locks the tablet away and follows Sam to the kitchen table.

###

The cave is even darker now with so little to light it. The Pale Demon does his work quietly, work he hasn't done in quite some time. Ceramic pottery of red, green and yellow lie across the rocky floor, surrounded by marks and sigils carved and painted on the ground by magic.

Each bowl is filled with a mixture of different herbs, minerals and powdered bones. Slowly, the pale demon chants over each one, his words echoing, dark and foreboding the cave. The bowls light with flames of black and gold, ignited by the power in the demon's words.

The air is thick with the scent of burning, and the sounds of screams and sobs.

Abaddon paces before a line of human men, each chained and tied and broken. They beg for their lives but Abaddon does not even look their way. She simply acts as if they are not there, as if they are no more worthy of her attention than the stalagmites residing in the cave.

"Begin," the Pale Demon whispers.

Abaddon nods her head and then glides over to the first man in the line. He shakes violently as she closes in on him. Her hands grip around his head tightly. Her teeth glitter dangerously and then the sound of a snapping neck rings out.

The other men twist and fight harder against their restraints as if they had no idea that it would come to this. That they would never make it out of this cave. Of course, they won't. How ignorant would they have to be to believe their lives weren't over the minute Abaddon took them from their homes?

The Pale Demon speaks a special incantation above the yellow bowl. The flames grow higher and the ground beneath the blow melts away, splitting the earth open, giving way to primeval heat below. A reddish wisp of air floats from the opening with a scream like a dying woman. It spirals through the air until it slams into the dead man's chest. His eyes open again, but this time they do not look like the eyes of a human; they are black and orange like coal cracked with magma.

"Another," the Pale Demon says, his heart pounding. The surge of powerful magic glowing in his veins like a million exploding suns. How had he gone so long without this? Without the ecstasy of magic?

The Pale Demon and Abaddon will do this. Fifteen more times, and when they ware done, the world will see something it hasn't since it's foundation.

The Return of the Nightmares.

###

Dean and Cas are training again. The same old story, over and over. But this time they're doing something Cas feels a little more comfortable with. Hand-to-hand combat. That's the way angels would fight with swords and blades and fists. So even though he didn't have his physical strength to back it up. he'd had practice doing this before.

"You're going to have to hit harder than that," Dean says.

Cas tries to catch his breath. He's not used to having to worry about that when he fights. "I don't want to hurt you."

Dean laughs. "You forget you don't have your special angel mojo anymore. I'm a lot stronger than you now." Dean reaches his arm around Cas's neck and throws him to the ground, knocking the breath out of him.

But Cas is still a fighter. He's still tens of thousands of years old and seen a lot more battle time than even Dean Winchester, who's behaving rather arrogantly at the moment. With a small smirk on his face, Cas grabs Dean's ankle as he's taking a step and pulls. Dean's falls face first onto the mat.

"Don't underestimate me, Dean."

"I learned not to do that a long time ago."

They both climb to their feet again. Dean tosses Cas a dull knife and picks up one of his own up.

"If I come at you from the front, what do you do?" Dean charges forward with the knife held out. He steps out of the way just in time for Dean to stumble a few steps further than he expected.

"Not bad, Cas."

Feeling proud of himself, Cas grins broadly. He never expects that the whole thing is a decoy. Dean charges at him again and this time Cas isn't ready, but he's still able to get a good grip on Dean's arm and fight back.

It's strange being so close to Dean, not that they haven't always been close, but close in this body. This completely human body with it's speeding heart and jumping stomach and the way it seems to move and beat in time with Dean's. He's not sure what to do with it, how to feel about it. It's probably just normal, just human, to feel like this.

Dean's leg hooks around Cas's. He loses balance and Dean does too. They fall together, with stunning inelegance. Cas lands on top of Dean, their bodies lined up. Dean tenses beneath him, and Cas wonders why he can't breath. How Dean keeps hitting this spot where Cas's lungs just don't work anymore. For a moment, their eyes meet.

"Wanna get off me?" says Dean, breathless.

Cas swallows, nods and rolls away, but even with the pressure of Dean's sternum gone from his own, he still can't breathe. This training's going to kill him.

###

Kevin's back in the library again. He has been for the past three days. He's still tired, but he eventually got desperate enough to use Sam's reading backwards tip and it worked, at least it helped a little. He's been making more progress than he expected.

The smell of tea in the old library isn't bothering him as much as it did before as he scribbles down what he translates. At this point, he's writing the words but not really absorbing what's happening until he writes something down and then… double takes.

"Oh." Kevin curses and stands up from the table, moving away from the tablet. "Sam!" he shouts. His heart is pounding. He can't believe it.

Sam comes into the main room of the bunker, his face scrunched in confusion. "What?"

"It's about the spell that made the angels fall."

"You found a way to reverse it."

Kevin shakes his head. "No. It's not that. It's… it's about Castiel."

He can hardly believe what he's read, but there it is right in front of him and somehow he knows he did not mistranslate. He did not.

Sam looks concerned as he steps closer, his eyes intent on Kevin. "Well, what is it?"

Kevin swallows, suddenly realizing how dry his mouth is. This is the first interesting thing he's come across in a long time and he's not even entirely sure he knows what it means.

"It's the ingredients for the spell that made the angel's fall."

"So what? Does it say how to reverse it?"

Kevin shakes his head. He hasn't gotten that far yet, and that's not what it's about. "It's about the last ingredient the grace of angel."

"Cas's grace. Yes?"

"The spell – it was a nephilim, cupid's bow and the grace of angel bonded with a human."

Sam's face screws up into confusing. "Bonded? What do you mean bonded?"

"I don't know. Not exactly. The word bonded doesn't seem to be the perfect one. But it's the closest I can get… connected, attached, maybe," Kevin sighs. "In love."

"In love?"

Kevin looks up at Sam and says, "Bonded."

"Cas?... Dean? Cas and Dean?"

"Do you have another explanation, Sam?"

###

Oliver knocks on Castiel's bedroom door.

"Come in," Cas says.

Oliver pushes open the door and steps inside. The room is lit by one lamp and has a boring bed with white linens and brown blanket in the center of the room. His closet door is open and empty. On the nightstand, Cas has a picture. That's the only decoration in the room. It's of Dean, Sam and him – and some other people that Oliver doesn't recognize.

"How was training?" asks Oliver.

"Fine," Cas says, sounding a bit sad. "I'm tired. I didn't know what that word even meant until-"

"Yeah."

He turns and looks at Cas. "Is it the same for you? I mean, you're immortal or something of that nature, correct? Dean said."

"I'm not immortal. I just age much slower than normal people. And yes, I feel, I feel as profoundly as anyone else." He looks away. "Sometimes, I think I feel more."

"I'm sorry," Cas says, sitting on the edge of the bed. His hair is messy and stuck up in random places. Oliver can't help but smile. This isn't the Cas he knew – not in vessel – but Oliver can still feel him. He's the same.

"Don't be. It's good to feel. It means you're alive."

Cas just looks up, his eyes wide, and half smiles. "Are you and Dean fighting?"

Oliver shrugs. "I don't really know. I think he's… posturing."

"Posturing?"

"He thinks I'm threatening him."

Cas rubs his calves, grimacing. "Dean doesn't trust people who use magic."

"I don't think it's about that." Oliver can't look at Cas right now. Not when he's so obviously concerned about Dean and only Dean.

"I can't protect him anymore. Not like this… I'm of no value," Cas says but he's staring down at his hands, speaking quietly like he didn't entirely mean to say it aloud.

"Don't ever say that Castiel. Don't ever let Dean make you think it. You have value just by existing." Oliver stands up, walks over to Cas and puts a hand on his neck. He can feel Castiel's pulse beneath his fingers. "Understand?"

"I think so," Cas says.

Oliver's not a hundred percent convinced, but he can't stand it. Not for another second, can he stand so close to Castiel, when he doesn't remember. Oliver turns and leaves Cas alone in his bedroom without another word.

###

Dean really needs to get out of the bunker. Get away from Sam who he he's always worried about because of Ezekiel (who he hasn't heard from in days) and Oliver who's annoying and everywhere. He decides to go out and get hamburgers. At the last minute, he asks Cas to go along. Dean's not sure why.

They drive to Dean's favorite place. It's a diner nearby that's decorated like it's from the fifties. It's called Shake, Rattle and Cheeseburgers. It makes no sense, which is one of the reasons Dean likes it so much.

He opens the door for Cas without thinking and then follows him inside. The restaurant smells like grease and cooking meat. Everything is all black-and-teal glittery tiles, not classy by any standards but fun. Dean recognizes the song, "Wild, Wild Young Men", playing from the jukebox. It's one of his favorites.

Dean orders cheeseburgers, fries and onion rings for everyone back at the bunker. Cas looks curiously around the restaurant, hands in the pockets of his jacket – well Dean's jacket. He let Cas borrow it.

Cas ends up loitering over by the jukebox. While waiting for his order, Dean approaches Cas. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a couple quarters.

"Wanna pick a song?" Dean asks.

"Yes." Cas takes the coins, then reads down the list of songs. Dean turns away, leaning on the jukebox. Dean laughs when he hears the song. He was expecting something else. Del Vikings, even Nat King Cole, Elvis maybe. But no Cas, has to pick Doris Day.

Whatever will be, will be  
The future's not ours to see

"Why that song?" Dean asks.

Cas shrugs. "Why? Is it a bad song?"

"It's a girly song."

"Are girls bad? I thought you liked girls?"

Dean sighs. "No Cas. I didn't mean. Just, let's get dinner."

"Okay."

Dean doesn't know why sometimes his words just don't come out right around Cas. Probably because he's tired all the time. That's it.

The ground shakes like it's been tipped by an earthquake. Cas stumbles into Dean and Dean holds him up.

"What the-"

All the patrons turn to look at Dean and Cas, their eyes are cold and black.

"Listen to me, Cas. If we want to get out of his alive, you need to listen to me." Dean grips Cas's shoulders, his eyes wild. He can smell it. Sulfur.

"Is this a part of my training?" asks Cas.

"Unfortunately. No." Dean starts to back up; Cas instinctively follows him.

"What do we do?"

"Run."

So they do. They run as fast as they can, fighting past the demons, outside into the night air. A pack of five demons follows in their wake. One tackles Dean and he thrusts the demon knife right into its heart. Cas starts saying the exorcism. Dean didn't even know he knew the words. The demons are thrashing and fighting against Cas's words. One breaks through and jumps on Cas. Fear crushes down on Dean. Cas is human now. Vulnerable. He can't let anything happen to him, but before Dean can help, he watches the demon stumble back and die.

"Nice one," Dean says proudly. Maybe Cas can take care of himself.

"Thanks for the lessons." Cas grins.

There are two demons left, still coming towards them. "You can kill us, pretty soldiers," says a female demon. "You can stop us, but you won't be able to stop what's coming. No one will."

"Shut up," Dean says and hurls the knife into the demon's body. It crumples to the ground. Cas finishes the exorcism, forcing the other demon out of the body.

Dean feels that high, that elation, that comes from a successful hunt as they drive home. They end up stopping at McDonald's to get some dollar menu stuff. They'll need food after that impromptu hunt.

When they get back the bunker, Dean shouts, "Dinner!"

But everyone is already in the main room. They're huddled around the TV, the lights flashing on their stunned faces. Oliver's hands are over his mouth. Sam's hand is on Kevin's shoulder.

"What happened?" Cas asks.

Sam just nods toward the television.

What Dean sees makes him sick to his stomach. It's Topeka, the largest city near here, and half of it is burning to the ground.

Then Dean hears something that makes him even sicker. The news reporter's talking and Dean can't make out all the words but the one that sticks, the one that holds on and won't let go is:

Sulfur.

Something's coming, and they're not ready for it.

**Thanks for reading! Review and let me know what you think. Thanks again!**

_Excerpts from 3: Into the Dark_

_"Dean, I think we've got something," Sam says._

_Surprise. "We've got something everywhere."_

_"This one's big." Sam begins to read something off his computer._

_"A town in Alabama hasn't seen the light of day in a week. Scientists are looking for an answer, but so far-"_

_"Yeah, yeah," Dean says. "I get it." That is big… that is apocalypse big, and Dean just can't go back there again._

_###_

_"There's a demon locked in here?" Oliver asks._

_"Yeah," Kevin replies_

_Oliver stands up straighter, his face serious. "Which one?"_

_"Crowley, King of Hell? Heard of him?"_

_"Can I talk to him?"_

_"Dean wouldn't like."_

_Oliver really couldn't care less what Dean Winchester would like._

_###_

_Cas has never felt like this, so human, so much. This is what they mean when they talk about desire, about lust. He's never done this before, not really, so he doesn't know how to slow down, how to take small bites._


	3. Into the Dark

3: Into the Dark

The sun glimmers bright across the school playground equipment, glittering off the slides, swings and monkey bars. Kids are running all across the green grass, chasing balls or Frisbees. There's a group of girls playing Ring-Around-the-Rosy. Their small voices ring through the air, soft and gentle.

"_And we all fall down_," the little girls say in unison, and then crumple to the grass. They start to laugh, but a thunderous crack cuts off their rejoicing. An unearthly still falls across the yard.

At the horizon, black seeps into blue, like the darkness has cracked through the sky and is somehow leaking into the day. It starts small, barely noticeable, but then filters faster and faster until it's crawling over the sun and hiding it.

The children scream. Teachers are jolted into action, trying to usher the kids inside, but it's pure chaos. Chaos because the day is being swept away, and it's defying all laws of physics. This isn't a solar eclipse. This isn't anything, but unprecedented darkness.

When the teacher gets the last student inside, a small girl, he pulls the door shut. But a little girl keeps her small nose pressed to the sliver of window on the door, and she observes the last bite of day being eaten away by total darkness.

###

Something sleepy and sad has settled in the bunker, in everywhere really. A thick overcast fell over most of Kansas, and the weather's been alternating between pouring and drizzling since the Topeka fire.

Dean's drinking a cup of black coffee and staring down at Sam who's scrolling through things on his computer. Kevin, Oliver and Cas must still be asleep because he hasn't heard from any of them yet this morning.

"Dean, I think we've got something," Sam says, turning around to look at Dean.

_Surprise_, Dean thinks. "We've got something everywhere."

"This one's big." Sam starts to read something off his computer. "A town in Alabama hasn't seen the light of day in a week. Scientists are looking for an answer, but so far-"

"Yeah, yeah," Dean says. "I get it." That is big…that is apocalypse big, and Dean just can't go back there again. He doesn't want to go return to the fear and the pain of a world of attacks. Not when they had been so close to stopping it all for good.

"Do we know of anything off the top of our heads that could do something like that?" Sam pauses. "I can't think of any, not in the research here or in Dad's journal."

Something about Sam discussing Dad's journal unnerves Dean. It's not something they talk about much anymore.

"I'm not sure we should go," Dean says.

Sam draws his head back looking absolutely puzzled. "Why not?"

"You're still weak."

Sam stands up, drawing back as if to make him look even taller, which he almost never does. "I am not weak."

"The trials took a lot out of you. It's probably safer-"

"I'm not going to lock myself away. The fact that any of this happened is my fault. My fault for not going through with the trials so I have to help."

"Sam!" Dean snaps.

Suddenly, something very elemental in Sam's demeanor shifts. Dean hasn't heard much, really anything at all, from Ezekiel until now.

"Dean," he says with that annoyingly soft voice of his.

"How's Sam doing? Is he better?"

Ezekiel/Sam shrugs. "He's _better. _Not healed. I'm trying, but I'm working against all sorts of forces of nature."

"Then he's still too weak to hunt."

"I don't think so. Not with me. He can go, but-"

"But what?" Dean says through shut teeth. He has a dislike of Ezekiel he just can't place.

"I think you should tell him about me."

"Whoa. No. He could expel you if I did that. He could die. You said he'd die if he wasn't your vessel."

"Yes, Dean. But you can't keep lying to your brother. I don't like this." Ezekiel whispers. "I'm starting to feel like a demon."

Fear grips Dean. What if Ezekiel just decides to leave? "You said you'd do this. You said you'd help him."

"There's a chance he won't expel me, Dean."

"I can't take that chance!" Dean shouts. He also can't take the chance of Sam hating him forever for this.

Oliver comes into the main room, interrupting them. He looks uncharacteristically rumpled with his crooked glasses, wrinkled Air Force t-shirt and uneven pajama pant legs.

"Everything okay?" Oliver asks.

"Yeah, everything's fine man," Sam says sincerely. Sam who is clearly Sam again.

"You know what?" Dean says, smiling at his brother. "You're right. We should go. It'll be good for us both to get back into the hunting swing of things."

Sam gives a little jump of excitement. "Good, I'll get packed." He hurries toward the hall. "Morning, Cas."

"Good Morning, Sam," Cas says with a yawn, his eyes going right to Dean. He grins. Dean automatically smiles back. It's just a reaction. One he seems to have a lot around Cas.

Dean's happy to be getting a break from Oliver, but he's a bit worried about leaving Cas behind. Still Cas isn't ready for a hunt as a human, and Dean isn't opposed to getting a little alone time with Sam to make sure he really is all right.

It will be good, maybe fun even, to get back to normal life. Well, normal for the Winchesters.

###

Oliver sits in his chair by the window, watching the rain leave marks across the glass. He's always loved the rain, the sound, the smell. How little it could be controlled. His lips move into a small smile as he picks up the phone and dials his daughter.

"Hey Dad," she answers quickly. She sounds like she's in a hurry.

"Hey, sweetie, what's going on?"

"I'm studying."

Oliver scratches his head. "You're studying?" She sounds out of breath.

"Yeah, sorry, I just ran to the library."

He's not stupid. He's known this girl her whole life and can tell something is wrong.

"Andrea, don't lie to me."

"I'm not Dad. I have class."

He sighs. "It's Sunday. I know you don't have classes on Sunday." Andrea has always been the worst liar, even when she was little. It has always been a comfort to Oliver, but right now he feels less than comforted. "Don't lie to me. Were you with a boy – or a girl or ?"

She groans. "No, Dad."

"Then what's going on?" Oliver stands up from his chair and starts to pace.

"Where are you?"

No answer.

"Andrea, where are you?"

Her voice is quiet, but he can make it out. "Topeka."

That's where the fire happened. Topeka, Kansas.

"What are you doing there?" he shouts, panic shocking through him.

"Helping, Dad. I'm helping."

Oliver's hearts starts pounding. "Go back to school. Now!"

She sighs softly. "No, Dad. I'm sorry, but I can't do that. I love you."

"Andrea," he protests, but the phone beeps and he realizes she hung up on him. Oliver tosses his phone onto the bed.

He looks up and sees Cas in the doorway. Oliver stumbles back, startled.

"Sorry," Cas says. "I shouldn't have-"

"It's fine."

Cas steps into the room. "But you're not fine?"

Oliver considers lying to Castiel, but he doesn't want to. He's never wanted to keep things from him. "No."

"What's wrong?"

As Oliver recounts what happened on the phone with his daughter, Cas listens intently and moves closer to him until they're both sitting on the edge of Oliver's bed.

"She just wants to help," Castiel says.

"I know, but it's dangerous. She's my daughter. Someone else can help."

"Wouldn't that someone else be someone else's daughter or son too?"

Oliver laughs sadly through his nose. "Yeah, but it's hard to explain, Castiel. It's just- she's, she needs to stay away from this life. I need to keep her away from it."

"This isn't an easy life, that's what Dean says, anyway."

Oliver really doesn't want to know what Dean has to say about it. Not with the way Castiel looks at him. "It's different for her," Oliver snaps at Cas. "She _cannot _be a part of this."

Cas stands up from the bed, looking hurt. He mutters what Oliver thinks is "I'm sorry" under his breath and walks out of the room.

"Castiel, I didn't mean," Oliver sighs. He wants to go after Castiel, but he's too worried, too afraid, for Andrea to even move.

###

Dean has never seen anything like this in his life, and Dean has seen some insane things. He's been to hell, heaven and purgatory, but there is something like this – that is just plain wrong. It's so off. So unnatural.

The sky is a heavy inky black, like somehow the small town of Rickert, Alabama has been trapped perpetually at midnight.

The town's main street is lined with emergency vehicles, dozens of reporters and the vans and cars of people who appear to be scientists. Oh, there also seem to be a few crazies waiting for the mothership or something like that. A few lights have been added to the street, but not many. It's still very dark.

"This is – it's screwed up," Sam whispers.

"Oh, come on, Sammy. Aren't you glad to be getting back into the freak show?"

Sam snorts.

Dean starts heading toward the police cars when Sam's hand catches the sleeves of his suit jacket.

"I think we'll have a better chance with them this time." Sam gestures towards a group of men and women, some with thick glasses, some with weird metal probes or tiny satellite looking things.

"Why?"

"This isn't a crime, Dean. What information are the police going to have?"

Dean shrugs. "All right, but you do the nerd talking."

Sam rolls his eyes.

"Excuse me, FBI" Sam flashes his badge and introduces them with their fake agent names. "Can we speak to whoever's in charge?"

"That would be me."

A woman with pulled-back wavy blonde hair and an aviator jacket steps forward. "I'm Dr. Kennish. How can I help you?"

"We were just curious if you'd made any progress figuring out what's going on here?"

She shakes her head. "Not much. It's an anomaly we've never seen before. At least, in recorded history."

"Maybe it's sign of the end of times," Dean remarks with a snide grin. This woman is pretty and it's been while. "We better not leave anything undone," he tries to say suggestively.

Dr. Kennish's brow furrows, and she looks over at Sam. "Is there something wrong with your partner?"

"Many things," Sam says. "Many things." Dr. Kennish laughs, and Dean's feeling distinctly annoyed.

"So, Dr. Kennish, when did you arrive here?" Sam continues.

"Came down, the day after it happened. Our home office is in Indiana. I'm an astronomer, and the only thing that should be able to cause darkness is the movement of moons and planets. Yet according to the position of these objects, it should be daylight here and obviously it's not."

"Yeah," Sam says, looking much more interested than Dean could muster.

"So what we've been doing now is testing the air to see if it's some sort of pollutant blocking the sun, though it doesn't look like it."

Dean looks up at the lights sprinkled across the sky. "You can see the stars."

"Exactly," says Dr. Kennish. "Despite that, we had some interesting results. The air contains trace amounts, not enough to be dangerous, but still present of Sulphur Dioxide, Hydrogen Flouride, and Hydrogen Chloride. And it's more concentrated in some places than in others."

The Sulphur makes sense to Dean, but what do the other two mean? He's pretty sure he's heard of Hydrogen Chloride and that it's poisonous.

"So what does that mean?" Dean asks.

"Not sure," Kennish says. "But these are the chemicals commonly found in volcanic eruptions."

Dean guffaws. "A volcano in Alabama?"

Dr. Kennish narrows her eyes as she looks at Dean. "Oddly enough. That's how it would seem."

Sam and Dean thank Dr. Kennish for her time and then head back to their motel. It was hard to get a room even in a dumpy place like this because so many people have come to witness the midday darkness.

"A volcano? That's, that's effing crazy, man," says Dean, opening a can of beer.

"You think it's awesome."

"Yeah, it's pretty cool."

Sam rolls his eyes. "What was that back there anyway?"

"What?"

"With Kennish?"

"She's hot. I always do that."

"When you were 25, Dean. You don't do that anymore. You haven't for a long time. What's going on?"

"Exactly," Dean huffed. He didn't want to talk about this. "It's been a long time."

Sam scratches his head, eyeing Dean carefully. "Is this, um, is this about I mean, about Cas and Oliver becoming, um, friends?"

Wait? What? Dean doesn't know what to – no, no of course it isn't! That's just. "Sam, no, Dude. I was a hitting on a hot girl. What's that got to do with Cas?"

"She's not a _girl, _Dean. She's has a Ph.D. You're so-"

"So what, Sammy?"

He sighs, smiles. "Nothing, just sit there, drink your beer, enjoy your occasional misogyny and blissful ignorance."

Dean's just happy to be back on the job. He's happy that Sam's alive, and maybe he'll do that. Maybe he'll just enjoy this blissful ignorance. Whatever Sam means by that.

###

The street is dark. It's dark all the time now, which means anything can happen, which means the things we fear during the night, the reasons we lock our doors and shut our windows at night, are now here always. All the time.

The crime rate is going through the roof.

Ten-year-old Hank Kennish was never meant to be outside without the artificial lights. Without his mother. But he was just tired of being cooped up in the motel and he thought what could it hurt if he took a couple dollars and walked over to the 7-11 to get a Slurpie.

Well with the darkness and the fear in this town, anything could happen.

He was filling his cup with Blue Raspberry Slurpie when he heard the gunshots. He ducked down, but out of the corner of his eye he could see three figures in hoods. The man working the cash register was slumped over. Probably dead.

Hank did everything he could not to cry not to make a sound. When the men turned, to head back out the door, he caught a glimpse of the tallest figure's eyes. He could hardly believe what he saw. They were black, crackled with lines of glowing orange.

###

Sam was tired, his eyes heavy. They'd been at this for hours and the darkness was messing with head. It always felt like nighttime. He walked to the window, just to stretch his legs.

"Dean, look outside," Sam says. There are cop cars and crime scene tape around the gas station across the street.

Dean walks over and looks out the window beside him. "We should probably go check it out."

"Yeah."

They get dressed and head across the street. Sam's been feeling weird since the trials. Not super bad, but just kind of fuzzy, dizzy, a little bit like when you're about to wake up from a dream. He doesn't want to tell Dean because he knows Dean doesn't need more to worry about – and there's also the issue of what Kevin told him a week ago. He keeps trying to figure out how to bring it up, but he doesn't know what to say, and he's kind of afraid of how his brother will react to the news that Cas might just be in love with him, or bonded with him, or whatever. Sometimes he just doesn't know what Dean will do if pressed.

Sam shakes his head, like he's trying to knock the thoughts away. He needs to stay focused on the task at hand.

It's of course still dark as Dean and Sam make their way over to the line of cop cars. This time Dean feels comfortable talking so he pushes his way in front of Sam and flashes his FBI badge at an officer.

"What happened here, Officer?" he asks.

"Robbery gone wrong we think. The clerk's dead and we've got one witness," she replied.

"Can we talk to the witness?" Dean asks.

"You can give it a try." The Officer nods towards the ambulance, a little boy is sitting in the back with a blanket wrapped around him. Sam quickly recognizes the aviator jacket of the woman whose arm is around him. "He wouldn't talk to us."

"Look, Dean. It's Dr. Kennish."

Dean sighs. "Let's go see my favorite person."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Don't get pissed at her because she rejected your half-hearted pick up attempt."

He expects Dean to correct him, and he's surprised when he doesn't

"Hello, Dr. Kennish. We're so sorry about what's happened," Sam says.

"With all the cops in this town, you think they could've prevented this," Kennish snaps.

Sam looks down. He does wish he could have prevented it. Could have known. Then he thinks if only he'd just died in the trials then he could have. That in a way this really was his fault. "I'm sorry."

"That's no – I didn't mean- it's just it's my son."

"I know," Sam says. "We need to talk to him about what he saw."

Dean sits down beside the boy. "Hey Kid, I'm Dean. What's your name?"

It partially bothers Sam how good Dean is with kids especially for a guy who never really wanted a normal life, though he did help raise Ben for a year. He has this ability not to talk down to kids that, no matter how much Sam tries, he just can't mimic.

The boy doesn't answer so Kennish does. "Hank."

"People really need your help. I know you're brave enough to help them."

The boy sighs. "You won't believe me."

"Try me."

"The guys who shot the clerk. He had- His eyes were weird."

"Like all black?" Sam asks.

"All black?" Kennish straightens up, pulling her arm from around her son. "What are you talking about?

The boy shakes his head, then looks down at his untied sneakers. "They kind of looked like lava rocks… but with like hot lava inside."

Sam and Kennish exchange a look. He can tell she doesn't want to believe, but the connection to volcanoes is hard to overlook.

"Thanks for your time," Sam says.

When they're out of earshot, Dean asks, "What do we know about monsters with lava rock eyes?"

"Nothing."

There's a pause then Dean says thoughtfully, "Maybe Cas has heard about them. We should call the bunker."

###

Back at the bunker, Kevin had answered the phone. Now, Dean is telling him some weird story about volcano eyes or something. He wasn't quite sure.

"So you read anything about this in that tablet of yours?" Dean asks.

"No. I haven't.

Dean sighs. "So it probably doesn't have anything to do with the angels falling."

"I don't know."

"Ask Cas," he hears Sam yell.

Kevin finds Cas raiding the kitchen and does his best to describe to him what Dean had said. Cas shrugs as he bites into an apple. "Never heard of it. Maybe a demon would know – it's more closely related to hell. You could ask him."

Oliver walks in behind Kevin and startles him. "There's a demon locked in here?" Oliver asks.

"Yeah," Kevin replies

Oliver stands up straighter, his face serious. "Which one?"

"Crowley, King of Hell? Heard of him?"

"Can I talk to him?"

"Dean wouldn't like it."

Oliver really couldn't care less what Dean Winchester would like. The look on his face made that perfectly clear to Kevin.

"That's not a bad idea," Dean says, but sounds distinctly annoyed by that.

"I can't talk to him," Kevin says. "I don't think he'll say anything to Cas." Crowley wasn't over the time Cas betrayed him.

"I'll go with you," Oliver says.

Dean grumbles. "Take Cas" and hangs up.

Kevin's not entirely sure what problem Dean has with Oliver, but the thought of the spell sticks in his mind. _An angel bonded with a human._

He's not going to get anything if he takes Cas so he ignores Dean and has Oliver go with him.

Kevin can't help but be happy when he sees Crowley chained and locked into place looking tired and beaten. His snarling face lifts up to look at them.

"Well. Hello Kevin. Never thought you'd come to visit me, though it is good to see a familiar face."

"Shut up!" Kevin barks.

"And hello Oliver, it's good to see you again. How long has it been?"

So Oliver and Crowley know each other? Interesting. Kevin's sure Dean will want to know about that.

"We need to ask you a question," Kevin says.

"A query, I see."

"Have you ever heard of a creature with, I guess, lava rock eyes that could blot out of the sun?"

"And why should I help you?" Crowley snarls.

Oliver steps forward, his body rigid, intimidating. In that moment he looks more like an angry Dean than himself. "Because you know what I can do to you just by looking at you."

"I thought you never touched Dark Magic anymore," Crowley says slyly.

"Oh, I think I can make an exception for you."

Umm… Kevin should probably stop any dark magic being done, but he's not sure how he can do that. Besides, he'd like to see any sort of pain befall Crowley. The sick freak who had his mother killed.

"Fine. But I want something to eat."

Kevin narrows his eyes. "Something normal. Not something like a puppy."

"A steak," requests Crowley.

"A hamburger." And that is all he will get from Kevin.

Crowley clears his throat and begins to talk. "I've heard of something, but they're mostly rumor. I mean as far as I know no one has seen one. Ever. I only heard about them after I became King of Hell. They're basically the roots of fear. They were released into the world at its creation and then God trapped them away. They're the first occupants of hell. The Old Testament says, God separated the light from the dark. This is what it's talking about."

Kevin can't help the shiver that runs across his body. All of this, since the very beginning of his time as a prophet, has been way too much for him. Things he didn't even believe in at all were becoming true in the most dangerous way imaginable.

"If they got out?" Oliver asks.

Crowley laughs. "Then we're all going to die. But I don't think it's really them. It couldn't be." Even Crowley looks scared.

"Is there a way to stop them?" Kevin asks.

"I don't know. There was only person who ever did. That was God and he seems to be MIA." Crowley lets out a long breath, visibly shaking away the fear. "Now I want my hamburger."

###

Castiel doesn't know what to do with his time now that Dean isn't here to help him train. He's walking to the different kitchen cabinets and opening them up just to see what's inside. He hears footsteps behind him and turns around.

"I'm sorry about earlier," Oliver says, leaning in the doorway.

Cas stares down at his feet. He never meant to upset Oliver. Sometimes he doesn't know how to talk to people. He always thinks he's getting better and then messes it up. "It's okay. I understand. It's not any of my business."

Oliver puts his hand on Castiel's back. In the middle of his back. Cas stiffens.

"There's just – Andrea isn't built for this life. She deserves so much more and she's too young to make these decisions that could alter her whole life."

Cas turns and looks at him. He can see the lines of worry around Oliver's eyes. "But isn't it wrong for you to try to make those decisions for her too?"

Oliver turns away from Castiel and starts searching through the large rack of wine outside the kitchen. "I'm her father. It's my job to try and make decisions for her." He stops his search and slides a wine bottle out. "That's a great year."

"What is?" Cas asks.

He holds up the bottle with its thick purple liquid, one hand on top and one on bottom. "This wine. Want some?"

Cas shrugs. "I don't know. Dean thinks I get inebriated too easily."

Oliver's smiles, something flashing in his eyes. Something that intrigues and scares Cas at the same time. "Well, Dean's not here? Is he?"

Of course he isn't here. Oliver clearly knows that. "No. He left. A few days ago," says Cas, a bit confused.

Oliver laughs softly as he pours some of the wine into a large goblet. "Take the glass."

Cas reluctantly reaches out. He takes a sip of the wine, and it is surprisingly fruity and thick. He drinks that whole glass then another and another and another. Oliver is drinking pretty hard too. They get into another bottle. Cas has no idea how much time has passed.

"You know what the best part about being a human is?" Oliver asks, jumping onto the kitchen counter.

"You're a thousand years old, are you really the best judge of human?" Cas's head feels a bit fuzzy, but he still knows what's going on. He's still aware of himself.

Oliver moves closer, looking utterly offended. "Excuse you. I am most certainly not a thousand years old. I think Dean might have been right about your relationship to alcohol."

"Dean thinks he's right about everything." Cas didn't entirely mean to say that. The wine is talking now.

Oliver clasped a hand over Cas's wrist. "I'm sensing some buried resentment coming to the surface."

Cas shakes his head. He doesn't want to think about Dean right now. "No… What were you saying about being human?"

"The best part about being human," Oliver whispers almost against his ear, "is the music. Let's listen to some music, Castiel. What do you say?" Oliver's body is pressed against Cas's side. He can feel the sharp ridges of bone and the turn of the muscle.

Oliver steps away from him and walks backward toward the living room, and devious smile on his face. "Don't forget the wine."

###

After getting the information from Crowley, Sam and Dean formulated a plan. Unfortunately, they'd need Kennish to help execute it. She was reluctant at first, but Sam convinced her by saying that her son could be in danger if the creature, whatever it really was, had any idea that he had seen it.

So, Kennish took the meter that she was measuring air composition with, and the three of them walked into the darkness with one goal in mind. Use the meter to track down the creature based on where the sulphur concentration was strongest. Then use light to hurt it. They had high-powered flashlights that would flood an area with light.

Dean is not convinced until he sees the plan working in person.

"This is working. I can't believe it's working," Dean says, sounding surprised.

Dr. Kennish scoffs. "It's science. It always works."

The three of them walk down an alley, past dumpsters and rats. Now Dean can smell the sulphur in the air.

"Sorry I didn't go to Stanford like you two." Dean grumbles under his breath. Sam doesn't like it when Dean brings up Stanford, but he doesn't want to say anything about it.

"Yale," Dr. Kennish corrects, and then turns her attention to Sam, a shy smile on her face. "You went to Stanford?"

"I did." Sam hopes they can just move on from this. He doesn't like to talk about his past. It reminds him of Jess, but the way Kennish is looking at him doesn't make him feel half bad.

Dean sighs and rolls his eyes. "Come on, you two. Evil lava demon, remember?"

Kennish scratches her head, looking down at her air composition meter. "I don't understand. These readings are incredibly strong. The thing should be here, if it exists."

"It exists," Dean says.

Kennish stops dead. Sam and Dean do the same. A shadowy form approaches them. Sam and Dean reach for their high-powered flashlights.

"Hank," Kennish steps forward. "What are you doing here?"

Sam moved forward, feeling that familiar grip of adrenaline. What would Kennish's son be doing here?

But he's not alone. A man has his arm around Hank's head and a knife to his throat. He'd been hard to see in the dark as he was wearing all black. His eyes though were noticeable and just as Hank described, like hot lines of magma.

"HANK!" Kennish shouted, dropping her meter. It shattered on the asphalt.

Dean and Sam both follow the plan they'd had. They pull out their high-powered flashlights and point them directly at the creature. The whole alley way lights up. He jitters away from it, but not like it's truly hurting him, just like it's making him uncomfortable.

Not good.

"Light. We need more light. It's not enough," Dean shouts, but Sam has no idea how they could get more light. The place is lit up nearly as bright as day.

Kennish manages to pick up her light and point it at the creature.

"Dean and Sam Winchester," the thing snarls. "The two most famous humans in the world. I am thrilled to meet you. Thrilled, I'll be the last thing you see."

Sam's head is spinning. What does this thing want from them? How can they stop it? What did Crowley say? Then when it hits Sam he doesn't mean to say it aloud, not really, but it just happens.

"The light from the darkness. The light from the-" That's it. He turns to Dean. "It's not physical light. It's real light. It's goodness."

Dean scoffs. "How do we fight with goodness? That's insane."

There's a long pause and suddenly Kennish turns off her flashlight and steps forward.

"Take me instead of my son. Let him go and take me."

The creature stutters backwards, nearly releasing Hank. It's blaze even brighter.

It's a weird thing to do, Sam thinks for a moment. It's possible for this creature to kill all of them – or at least most of them. He's not asking for a trade. Still, Dr. Kennish would be able to get away if she wanted to. Instead, she's offering herself. Instead, she's being good. Sam realizes what she's doing. If goodness can fight off this creature the giving your life for another is the ultimate act of goodness.

"No. Take me instead." Sam turns off his light and rushes forward. The creature thrashes again.

"What? Sam!" The terror in Dean's voice is evident.

Sam glances back at his brother, hoping to make him understand. "Dean."

Realization flashes in Dean's eyes. He turns off his flashlight. "Me too. We'll all take her place."

The creature lets out loud howl and the body it had been in crumbles, charred and burnt. Orange smoke bursts into the air and dissipates. Hank falls forward onto his hands and knees.

Kennish, Dean and Sam all run toward him.

"Are you okay?" his mother asks.

Hank's wide brown eyes look up at Dean and Sam. "Is, is it dead?" His voice shakes.

Sam shakes his head. "No, but it's gone."

For a moment, the four of them stood in that alleyway, breathing in that moment of ecstasy, of relief that they're all alive when they were so close to death.

"Look," Hank says, pointing up.

Sam looks up and smiles. The darkness melts away like watercolor, revealing behind the black, the golden purple of a sunrise.

###

In the bunker's living room, Oliver pulls open a wooden cabinet. He bends down, revealing a sliver of pale skin on his back. "Oh, this is perfect."

Cas pours the last of the wine into his glass. "What is?"

"They got a record player?" Oliver turns around holding a scuffed-up record sleeve in his hand.

"I think I've seen it, it's over there." Cas pointed to a dusty old machine on top of a wooden cabinet.

"This, Castiel, is my favorite song in the entire universe." Oliver grins broadly then spins in his bare feet to put the record into the player.

"Why?"

Oliver lets out a long sigh, then turns back to look at Cas. "I have my reasons."

Cas just leans against the edge of the sofa, listening to the scratch of the player and the soft music. Oliver slides over to him, glasses half way down his nose, hair a mess, and holds out his hand. Cas stares down at it.

"What's wrong with your hand?"

Oliver chuckles and then whispers, "Dance with me."

Cas suddenly feels hot and he's not sure if it's the alcohol or something more. "I don't know how-"

Oliver's hand wraps around Cas's and something spirals out from the touch toward the rest of his body, making him even dizzier.

"I'll lead," Oliver says.

Cas doesn't object as Oliver pulls him closer, locks their hands and puts one on his back. Oliver's leans his head against Cas's and starts to sing-along with the record. It reminds him of falling asleep to Oliver's voice back in the motel.

_"Darling, je vous aime beaucoup  
Je ne sais pas what to do."_

Oliver pulls Cas even closer. Cas like the feeling of being close to someone like this. It's not something he can have very often.

_"You know you've completely  
Stolen my heart."_

Oliver's voice is so low Cas has to strain to hear it, but he wants to hear it.

Cas lets out a long sigh. Oliver smells like wine and garlic, and Cas just breathes it in.

_"Morning, noon and night-time too  
Toujours, wondering what to do._

_That's the way I've felt  
Right from the start."_

"I like this song," Cas whispers.

"I'll never forget the first time I heard it."

Cas leans his head on Oliver's shoulder. He's not sure why he just wants to get closer and closer. "Oliver, I think your daughter is going to be okay. I really do."

"No, she won't, but thank you for saying it."

They dance until the song is over, and Oliver pulls away from him. Just a little. He brushes a lose strand of Cas's hair out of his face. For some reason, they're just standing near each other.

Without any more warning, Oliver presses his slightly parted lips to Cas's shut mouth. Cas's insides shiver at the contact. The kiss is slow, gentle, as Oliver nips and tugs at his wet lips.

Oliver pulls away, and their mouths make a quiet smack. He's no longer kissing Cas, but he's still leaning over him, his grey eyes open and searching.

"Is this okay?" Oliver's thumb strokes Cas's cheekbone.

Cas tries to make words come out, but he can't. He's too wrapped up in this, in the feel of it, whatever it is. He just nods.

"You're so damn beautiful." Oliver's voice is gruff and desperate as he kisses Cas's closed mouth again.

"Lovely." Oliver pushes down on Cas's chin. "I need you to open your mouth for me."

Cas is not sure what's wrong with him, why he's so frozen, he's been kissed before. Well, he's kissed someone before – but it wasn't like this.

"Oh." Cas gasps against Oliver's lips.

Oliver takes the chance to slip against Cas's. Now Cas gets what's happening. He kisses back not just with his mouth, but with his whole body. He's all trembles and touches and Oliver's tugging gently at his hair. Cas has never felt like this, so human, so much. This is what they mean when they talk about desire, about lust. He's never done this before, not really, so he doesn't know how to slow down, how to take small bites.

Cas pushes his hands under Oliver's shirt. He wants to feel the give of his skin and the tight muscles straining beneath.

"Castiel," Oliver growls, and somehow he knows he did something right.

Cas is so tangled up in the taste of wine on Oliver's tongue, and the feel of his hand on his hip bone, he hardly hears the door open. But he can't help, but hear the sound of smashing beer bottles.

Cas and Oliver split apart. Dean is standing in the open door, broke glass and spilled lager at his feet.

"The hell?"

. . .

**_Excerpts from 4: Yellow Brick Road _**

_"I'm sorry. Who are you?" Dean asks._

_"Dorothy."_

_"As in the Wizard of Oz?"_

_She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. "Do not talk to me about that infernal book."_

_. . . _

_"Oliver has to go!" Dean shouts at Sam._

_"Why?"_

_"He's a wizard – he knows Crowley and now he's bringing his daughter around. And frankly, I don't trust her either."_

_"You don't trust anyone, Dean! But that's not the point."_

_"Then what's the point?"_

_Sam shouldn't say this, but he just can't take Dean's attitude for another second. "You're jealous!"_

_. . . _

_ "Almost every book, Kevin, is another world," Dorothy says. "So when you laugh and cry with the characters, you're laughing and crying with real people. But right now, those lands, those families, those people are being wiped out, extinguished, you are a Prophet of God. You are the only one who can save them."_

**Notes: Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think so far. Sorry, this was a day late due to Christmas busyness. Hope you liked it.**


	4. Yellow Brick Road

Charlie can hardly believe she met Dorothy Baum. It seemed like something out of fairytale, a book, and in a way she was. Dorothy really is _the _Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. She's a lot of other awesome things too. She's brave and funny and not to mention gorgeous. Besides she also grew up around the world of the supernatural, so for the past several months, she and Dorothy have been hunting together – and doing other awesome things together that Charlie quite enjoys.

The morning sun filters in through the thin curtains of the motel. They'd just taken down a ghost that was haunting a local motel, and Charlie is ready to go and head back on the road, but Dorothy always takes forever to get ready.

Finally Dorothy comes out of the bathroom, but halfway to the door, she stumbles forward, grasping her head and wailing in pain.

"Dorothy, what's happening?" Charlie asks, hurrying to Dorothy's side. She puts a hand on her shoulder, trying to hold her up, but they both slip to the floor.

"I don't know!" Dorothy forces the words out, but Charlie can hear the pain in her voice.

Dorothy groans again, twitching violently before falling perfectly still.

Charlie puts her hands on both sides of her face, forcing her to look straight ahead. "Dorothy!"

She blinks a few times then mutters, "Charlie." She slumps forward and Charlie catches her.

Charlie's arms are still around Dorothy as she says, "What was that?"

Dorothy swallows and blinks. She's trying to focus her mind through what is obviously a great deal of pain. "Glenda."

Charlie tenses. She knows the stories, that some of the stories about Oz are true, that Dorothy is from there. "You don't mean?"

"I do."

Glenda the Good Witch. It seemed so impossible.

Charlie loved being with Dorothy. She was fun and adventurous and beautiful, but sometimes what she'd seen and experienced was hard for even Charlie, who'd seen so much, to fully comprehend.

"What did she want?"

Dorothy settles back, slightly away from Charlie, but looking straight at her. "It's dying. Oz is dying."

"_What?_"

Dorothy takes a deep breath and is able to steady herself. Charlie can see her regaining control. She stands up. "According to Glenda, it's not just Oz. She can contact other dimensions, and they're just – "

Charlie stands too. "Just what?"

A strand of hair has fallen out its tie and over Dorothy's face. "Disappearing."

"What do we do?"

Dorothy locks her hands behind her back and begins to pace the floor. "You said- your friends the Winchesters. You said they have a prophet."

"Why?" Charlie asks.

Her face is taught, serious, as she turns back to look at Charlie. "Because only he can save them."

###

Dean sits at the table in the bunker's kitchen. He takes a sip of his coffee, letting the flavor relax him. Supernatural things have been a bit quiet recently and he's happy for the break, but there are other things going on around the bunker though, some very strange things that Dean does his best to ignore. But he's not quite sure how long he'll be able to ignore it.

At least long enough to eat his breakfast.

"You have to talk to Cas," Sam says, his tall figure casting a shadow over Dean as he enters the kitchen.

Apparently not long enough to eat his breakfast.

Dean adjusts his t-shirt, staring down at the half-eaten Pop Tart on the kitchen table. "I have been talking to Cas. I just haven't had any reason to go out of my way and have long chick flick conversations with him."

Sam sighs and sits down beside Dean at the table. He leans in and says in almost a whisper. "Does it bother you?"

Why is Sam acting so weird? It's probably that damn angel.

"Does what bother me?" Dean asks.

There's a long pause. "Cas liking guys."

Dean stomach jerks. "No," he answers quickly. "It doesn't… why would? I mean I don't have a problem with Charlie, do I? What do you think I am? Some kind of bigot?"

Seriously, what is Sam's problem?

"That's not what I meant."

"Well, what did you mean Sam?" Dean says through his teeth, feeling suddenly defensive.

"I just meant you seem upset, man." Sam stands up from the table again.

"It's not guys – Cas likes dudes. Whatever. Not my problem. But I don't trust Oliver." Something about that guy has rubbed Dean the wrong way ever since he got here. Dean has to figure it out before someone gets hurts.

"Why not?"

Cas hasn't been a human long. Cas doesn't know what he's doing. "Because he's using Cas."

Sam shakes his head. "Honestly Dean I have no idea where you're getting that from."

Dean stands up from the table too; he turns to face Sam. "It's just a feeling, man. A gut instinct – and I trust my gut."

Oliver's daughter walks through the doorway, her high pony bouncing on her head. Andrea has jet-black hair instead of blond like Oliver's. She's wearing a thin white-and-red flower dress, and she's about nineteen. Just what Dean doesn't need: some moody teenage girl around the bunker. But she showed up here a week ago and Garth asked if she could stay with them for a while, so Dean said yes as reluctantly as possible.

"Good morning," she says, smiling.

"Morning, Andrea," Sam replies. Dean says nothing, just stares down at the floor.

She pours herself a glass of orange juice and then says, "Later" before leaving the kitchen. Just like her father – thinking everything in the whole damn world belongs to her.

When Dean can no longer hear her footsteps, he says to Sam, "And then he goes and brings her into the bunker. Like this is a hotel for wayward – I don't know."

Sam rolls his eyes. "She's a kid."

"So she shouldn't be hunting." Not that Dean and Sam didn't hunt as kids. Of course they did, but that didn't mean it was right. Although Dean wouldn't be as good of a hunter without all those years of practice. Why does he have such a headache all of a sudden?

"Oliver doesn't want her to hunt, but she wants to. It's better have her here and safe than out there on her own with those _things _running around."

Dean can't take Sam's rationalization for another second longer, his defense of Oliver who so clearly does not need nor deserve defending.

_"Oliver has to go!" Dean shouts at Sam._

_"Why?"_

_"He's a witch – he knows Crowley and now he's bringing his daughter around. And frankly, I don't trust her either."_

_"You don't trust anyone, Dean! But that's not the point."_

_"Then what's the point?"_

_Sam shouldn't say this, but he just can't take Dean's attitude for another second. "You're jealous!"_

Jealous, jealous! That's insane, ridiculous. Dean won't even dignify that with a response. It has him absolutely livid that Sam cannot see what he sees in Oliver. Those trials really did mess him up.

"You know what, Sam? Believe what you want. But there is something _wrong _with Oliver – and I am going to prove it and I am going to get him out of the bunker!" Dean nearly shouts. Dean's waiting for a response from Sam. All he gets is a blank stare.

Dean shuts his eyes and sighs when he hears Cas's voice behind him, "Hello Sam."

###

Ever since Oliver's daughter Andrea arrived at the bunker, Kevin has been losing his mind. She's so annoyingly perky, and asks way too many questions and she just always seems to be smiling and talking way too fast. For someone who grew up around hunting, she must not have seen very much because she's way too happy. She clearly hasn't seen the way the world really works. How all this supernatural stuff can drain all the good out of your life.

Andrea also seemed _way _to interesting in Kevin and his day. Like seriously she had to be hiding something, or want something from Kevin. For some reason, he didn't trust her and didn't like her. Just the way Dean didn't trust or like Oliver. Maybe they could just see something the others couldn't. In any case, Kevin is hiding behind a tall bookshelf in the bunker's living room, hoping that Andrea can't find him there.

"Dean! Dean, you here?" A redheaded girl shouts as she enters the bunker. Kevin thinks this must be Charlie. He almost says something but then Sam's in the living room before he can.

"Charlie? Hey what are you doing here?" Sam's face goes to a woman in a leather jacket behind Charlie that Kevin's only just noticed. "Who's this?" Dean follows in behind him.

"Oh, um, this is Dorothy Baum, she's sort of my girlfriend. And this is Dean and his brother Sam," Charlie says.

The other girl, Dorothy, raises an eyebrow and gives Charlie a little glare. "Sort of girlfriend?"

Charlie smiles and corrects herself. "Sorry. She is."

"Nice to meet you." Sam smiles and puts out his hand. Charlie shakes it.

Dorothy's hands are balled in the pockets of her jacket. She steps further into the bunker, her head tilted back and eyes wide like she's trying to take in as much of the view as possible. "Haven't been back here in years. My father was a Man of Letters."

"Really?" Dean asks. "That why you're here?"

Dorothy shakes her head. "Actually, we have a problem, and we're going to need your prophet, Kevin."

Hearing his name shocks Kevin and speaks even when he doesn't mean to. "Me?"

Dang it – now Andrea will come and find him and tell him about some musical she saw on Broadway or something.

"Have you been here the whole time?" Charlie asks.

Dean shrugs, flicking Kevin a glare. "Yeah, he likes to skulk."

"Dorothy, Charlie," says Sam kindly. "This is Kevin, prophet of the Lord."

Dorothy's lips purse. "That's your prophet of the Lord?" She lets out a breath." Guess he'll have to do."

Kevin does not need more people wanting things from him. It's really the last thing he can possibly take right now. "I'm taking a nap."

"Wait," Charlie's voice stops him. "This is important. People's lives are in danger and you're the only one who can help."

He should just walk away – ignore the people always wanting to take and take and take from him.

"How?"

Kevin stands there, blinking as Dorothy explains about Glenda the Good Witch and about what she said about Oz and how she's in contact with other story dimensions and how parts of them are all starting to disappear, and Kevin just feels dizzy. He can hardly make sense of anything she's saying. All Kevin can gather is that prophets have some powers of creation and something about writing – and this is all freaking insane.

When she's done, Dean's mouth is hanging open and he turns a skeptical eye toward Dorothy.

_"I'm sorry. Who are you?" Dean asks._

_"Dorothy," she says plainly._

_"As in the Wizard of Oz_ _?"_

_She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. "Do not talk to me about that infernal book."_

"But yes," says Charlie. "Her father Frank just made some changes to the story that Dorothy here isn't particularly fond of. But yes Oz is a real place."

"You need me to rewrite their stories?" Kevin asks, completely bewildered.

"Like Chuck did?" asks Sam.

Kevin feels panic and bitterness spread through him. "Except what you told me about Chuck – he didn't have to try – the stuff just came to him. Nothing has ever come to me ever. I mean what does it matter? They're just stories. This is real life."

"Almost every book, Kevin, is another world," Dorothy says. "So when you laugh and cry with the characters, you're laughing and crying with real people. But right now, those lands, those families, those people are being wiped out, extinguished, you are a Prophet of God. You are the only one who can save them."

###

Cas paces his dimly lit room, his mind spinning in so many directions. He's angry at Dean, but he still cares about Dean. He's always cared about Dean, and can't imagine a world where he didn't. But Oliver's different, Oliver is so open, so honest. It's refreshing really not to have wonder how someone thinks or feels. To have them show it so freely. It makes Cas think that maybe there is another way of being, a way where he can be less afraid. But if he can't find a way for Oliver and Dean to get along, Cas is afraid of losing them both.

Cas's so twisted and tied in his thoughts, he doesn't hear the door open. Cas turns around and sees a shadow. Instinctively, he swings at it. The shadow ducks out of the way and into the light.

It's Oliver. Light shines on his glasses, on the edge of his lips. His white shirt is partially unbuttoned, showing off a v of his skin that Cas is having trouble looking away from.

"I almost hit you." Cas gasps, trying to catch his breath.

Oliver's glasses slip down his nose as he turns and closes the distance between them. "There are much better things you can do with your hands."

Oliver runs his hands down Cas's chest slowly. Cas feels the pressure of each individual finger against him. Oliver's touch moves to Cas's sides, slides around the waistband of his pants and dips slightly beneath.

"Oliver." Cas inhales sharply, white sparks blinking in his vision.

Oliver's lips catch his. Cas is beginning to memorize their heat, their flutter, their give and take.

"I love kissing you," Oliver breathes against Cas's mouth.

But Cas's mind is somewhere else. At least it should be somewhere else. "I like it too but Oliver."

He kisses Cas again. Once. Softly. "You are persistent. I was hoping to distract you."

"Why doesn't Dean like you?" Cas blurts the question. If only he had more tact.

Oliver chuckles, and Cas can feel the vibration against his neck. A vibration that makes his whole body thrum with excitement. "You know, lovely, the last thing I want to talk about right now is Dean Winchester."

Cas sighs. This rivalry between Oliver and Dean is getting old. He needs an explanation because it just doesn't make sense. "Why? I don't get why you two hate each other so much."

"Dean started it." Oliver kisses down Cas's neck, down his chest, leaving little wet marks on his black t-shirt. He watches the top of Oliver's slightly wavy blonde hair, unable to tear his eyes away.

"Try to get along with him," Cas says, his eyes involuntarily shutting. "You're living in his house. You're-"

When Oliver gets to the button on Cas's jeans, he pushes Cas's shirt up and dips his tongue into Cas's navel. His breath is hot as he says, "I'm what? Screwing around with his angel?"

Cas jerks away from Oliver's touch, and he's not sure why. "I'm not his and we're not."

"Not yet." Oliver draws himself back up to his full height and then runs a hand through his hair, leaving trails behind his fingers.

Cas crosses his arms, his brow furrowing. "Seriously, though, what am I missing? Why doesn't he trust you? Garth trusts you, and he trusts Garth. You've been helpful. Sometimes I don't understand why Dean is so illogical."

Oliver thick hands grab Cas's wrists and pull him closer. "We could leave."

"What?"

"We could get Andrea. Me and you – we could leave." Oliver starts kissing Cas again, moving to a place behind his ear that feels so – so – there aren't really words for it. "Go hunt on our own. The three of us. You and Andrea have been getting along."

"I can't _leave._"

"And why not? What's keeping you here? What's so great about being here?" Oliver kisses his lips again. Cas likes this best because it's slow, soft and he doesn't feel so alone when Oliver's tongue is inside his mouth.

"I don't know," Cas says as Oliver pulls away for a breath. If only neither one of them had to breathe. If they could keep kissing, Cas could keep from thinking, from worrying. From worrying about what he's doing as a human, that there are things he likes about it, like kissing things, like Oliver things, but he also no longer feels entirely like himself. Cas doesn't want to think about that.

Oliver's hands are everywhere, and Cas can no longer keep track of their location. He likes the feelings though, the feeling of being surrounded.

"We could go to Paris, lovely. Venice, Belize. Anywhere you want," Oliver whispers.

"I've seen the world, Oliver. I was stationed on earth for thousands of years," Cas protests, but it feels weak. What _is_ keeping him here?

Oliver kisses him softly. "You haven't seen it like this. With me. Think about it. Promise me you'll think about it."

Cas feels shaky and dizzy with Oliver's body pressed against his. At this moment, he can think about anything but wanting more, wanting close, close, closer. "I promise."

###

Worried about what he's been asked to do, Kevin wanders around the bunker, his mind spinning. He's not anybody. He's not Sam and Dean. Why do people expect so much of him? He's just Kevin Tran, former Advanced Placement, current subpar prophet.

He heads to the library because no one else is usually there, but today he finds Cas sitting the dark room on one of the leather chairs, his face set into a hard frown.

"Hey, Cas, you okay?" Kevin asks, flipping on a light.

"Hmm... yes, just thinking." Cas studies Kevin closely. "You appear sick."

Kevin falls down dramatically on the sofa. "I_ feel _sick. The minute I think everything is going to be better. The minute I'm getting a hang of the translation thing, something else comes and throws me off balance."

"You don't know how to help Charlie and Dorothy," Cas says simply.

Kevin covers his hands with his face, wishing he could block out the entire world. "No, I don't, and I'm sick and tired of people putting this kind of pressure on me. I didn't choose this and I've lost everything because of it and I'm tired."

"What will you lose if you help them?"

"I don't know, but it's always something. You know that it's always something. And I mean, this is insane. How am I supposed to save fictional characters? They're not even real."

Cas stands up and moves to sit by Kevin on the couch. His face is deathly serious. "They're real somewhere, in another dimension. Just like we're real here."

Kevin stares straight ahead and lets his mind whirr with thoughts. "But who wants to destroy these worlds and why?"

"There's only one person with the power to do that now." Cas's voice is low, almost too low to hear.

"Who?" Kevin asks.

Cas pauses and lets out a long breath. "Metatron."

_Great_, thinks Kevin. Messing with Metatron and making another powerful enemy is exactly the last thing he wants to do. "Why would he?"

Cas doesn't have time to answer, which is okay because Kevin's sure he doesn't know, before Andrea walks into the room and sits down on the sofa arm near Kevin. Her hair whips around almost getting into his face. It smells like peaches. Why the heck does her hair smell like peaches? Why does he keep smelling it?

"What's going on?" she asks with a smile.

Kevin narrows his eyes. She's been his shadow ever since she got here, and it makes him uncomfortable. Most people just leave him alone unless they want something. "You really manage to be everywhere, don't you?"

Andrea stands up and folds her arms over her dress. "What's your problem with me?"

"Nothing." Kevin rolls his eyes.

He's honestly not even sure what his problem is with her. He just knows he finds her absolutely intolerable. I mean who is she really? With her flower dresses and her peach hair and the way she does little spells when no one is looking. He's not even sure Dean knows she's a witch too. He should probably tell Dean but he doesn't really feel like it. He hasn't had the urge to do much of anything recently.

"Whatever, Jonah." She lets out a disappointed sigh.

Kevin raises an eyebrow. "Jonah?"

"He was a prophet," Cas says, nearly making Kevin jump. He'd almost forgotten Castiel was even in the room.

"A terrible one," Kevin scoffs.

Andrea leans down just slightly so their eyes are closer to level. "Yeah, you know why? Because he refused to do what God asked of him. Thought he was too good for it."

"God's not asking me for a damn thing," Kevin stands up, an act that forces Andrea to step back. "It's Dorothy from _The Wizard of Oz_."

Andrea shakes her head. "You know I was excited when Dad told me there was a prophet here. What a disappointment. Refusing to even try."

She turns on her bare feet. Kevin has the strongest urge to throw something at her. Seriously, who on earth does she think she is? And why does she get to him so much? He barely even knows her.

###

Cas is sitting on his bed beside Oliver. They're not really saying anything. They're both just staring and thinking, but Cas is happy to not have to be doing that alone. He's reeling with the thoughts of what Oliver said to him earlier, and how to say no to Oliver. How to say he can't do it. He can't leave Dean.

"Ah ha!" Dean shouts, pushing through the cracked door of Cas's bedroom. Cas and Oliver jump.

"Ah ha, what?" Oliver sneers.

Dean points a finger at him. "I knew it. I knew you were hiding something."

"Dean," Cas sighs. He honestly cannot do this with Dean anymore.

"Hiding what?" Oliver asks, not a hint of concern in his voice.

"You know what," Dean practically snarls. "Want to tell him or you want me to?"

A bit of worry starts bubbling up in Cas's chest. There's no way Dean's been right about Oliver this whole time. He couldn't be, could he?

"Oliver, what is he talking about?" Cas asks.

"I don't know."

"Yes you do." Dean steps almost between Cas and Oliver. "I think it will sound better coming from you. You should tell him."

"Tell him what?" Still Oliver doesn't seem perturbed, which makes Cas feel a bit better.

Dean glares at Oliver, looking angry and serious, his jaw set hard and his cheeks bright red. "You want me to tell him?"

Oliver leans nonchalantly against the wall. "Yeah, sure. You do that. I'd like to hear this."

"What is it, Dean?" Cas asks sincerely. He needs to know what Dean means by all this. If something's wrong with Oliver, he'd like to know it now before he got even closer.

Dean ignores Cas and looks at Oliver. "Last chance."

Oliver shrugs.

"Oliver," Dean's voice is shaky on the name. "He, oh _screw you._"

Oliver lets out a loud, almost cruel sounding laugh. Seriously the fighting needed to stop. Cas could not believe Dean lied like that, pretended he had something on Oliver just to trick him into confessing something. At least there had been nothing to trick out of him.

Cas turns to Oliver. "Can we have a minute?"

"Of course, lovely." He kisses Cas once on the mouth, looks at Dean and then walks from the bedroom.

"What are you trying to do?" Cas snaps, unable to keep his cool any longer.

"Protect you." Dean's brow draws together. There's something familiar in his face. Pain. It's a look that makes Cas feel sick.

"I can take care of myself. I'm not a child," he replies at a near whisper.

Dean crosses his arms and looks anywhere but at Cas. At the one place, he should be looking. The one place Cas needs him to look. "But you don't-"

"I don't have my 'superpowers' anymore? And somehow that turns me into a fool?" Cas never thought it was possible to get as angry as he can get with Dean.

"That's not what I am saying." Dean starts to pace, his heavy boots thunking on the floor with each labored step.

Cas grabs Dean and holds him still. His gaze goes right to the place where theyre touching. His breath seems to lodge in his throat. "Then please Dean Winchester enlighten me as to what you _are _saying."

Dean's eyes find Cas's, find where they belong. "You kissed Meg."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Dean bites down his bottom lip. "You, you like _girls._ Or you did. When you became human, did it like _turn _you?"

Cas pulls away, turns his back. What was Dean even talking about? "For the love of- Dean, you can't possibly think- I can't have this conversation, I mean honestly."

How little did Dean actually understand about being human? Despite the fact he's been one all his life. He could be so completely dense.

"I just want to understand."

"No you don't." Anger burns at Cas's bones and he's unsure how to slow down its consuming rage.

"Excuse me?" Dean's eyes narrow. He looks mad too. He has no excuse to be angry with Cas, which just makes Cas angrier.

Cas can't stop the words that come flying from his mouth, pounding at Dean "You just want to look down your superior nose at everyone. You want everyone to feel bad because they're not you or Sam – like that makes them somehow less than, like it makes _me_ less than. Not everything is black and white, not everything fits into little categories that make Dean Winchester happy. Not everything is about you. I don't care if you understand why I'm with Oliver or not. It's not yours to understand, but just so you know people don't fall in love with body parts they fall in love with people."

Dean stumbles back. It's clearly not on purpose. Cas doesn't even think Dean notices that it happened. "You're in love with him? You hardly know-"

"You're not even listening!" Cas interrupts. "You're so, so… you once called me a baby in a trenchcoat, but it's you, you're… You're a baby with a shotgun."

Dean's face pulls together and he looks… well he looks afraid. "Cas."

Cas moves toward the door, needing space between him and Dean. It's all too much. Way too much. Dean has always been too much. "No. I can't, Dean. I can't do this anymore. In the morning, I'm leaving with Oliver and Andrea."

For a moment, Cas thinks Dean is going to stop him, but he doesn't. He lets Cas walk away.

###

The last thing Kevin wants to do is try. He's been trying for so long, so damn long, and he's sick of it. But the words keep pounding in his head. Words from Andrea James. A girl he hardly knows but he can't stop her words from bouncing around in his brain and making him want to try, even if he knows how trying ends. It ends in failure; it ends in losing everything.

Kevin paces the floor of the study, feeling sick. He's locked the rest of the world out. He's not sure what's going on between Dean, Sam, Cas, Oliver, or whoever outside the walls of his study. He just knows he doesn't care. He can't care. He doesn't have enough of himself left to keep caring and losing and caring and losing.

There's a glass bookend on one of the shelves. It's round and smooth, about the size of an orange. Suddenly, Kevin is staring at it and he's not sure why but he picks it up and holds it in his hands. He can see his reflection warbled in the glass. He stares back at himself until he can't stand it anymore and he throws the bookend as hard as he can against the wall. It goes right though the drywall and shatters against the concrete beneath.

Kevin bends over breathing heavily. He can fight it all he wants, fight it as long as he wants, but he's still a prophet of the Lord. He can complain about it or he can use it. If he fails, at least it won't be for not trying. He's just so damn tired of feeling sorry for himself he can't take it another minute.

_I can do this_, he says to himself. _This is who I am. I can do it. I can own it._

Kevin shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath and just lets it, lets in everything he's been trying to force out, and suddenly he knows what he should do. Frantically, Kevin starts pulling books down off the shelves. He hears the door open and vaguely realizes that it's Dorothy and Charlie, but mostly he's just pulling more and more books off the shelves and laying them on the floor. He knows which books to choose because he's a prophet, he's a prophet, he's a prophet.

And he knows how to do this like he knows how to breathe.

"Here use this," Sam says. Kevin's not even sure when Sam came in the room, but when he's looking up at him something feels off, something he can't quite place but now isn't the time to worry about it. "Take it," Sam says again

In Sam's hands are a ceramic bottle of ink and an engraved glass pen. Kevin's never used something like this in his life and he's not a hundred percent sure how to use it, but he's smart. He'll figure it out.

Kevin drops to his knees on the floor of the study and in a dazed adrenalize haze, he begins flipping back the pages of the books, dipping the sharp pen in the ink and writing.

He's not writing words he recognizes, not writing words he even really understands. It's not unlike the tablet and how he translates it, but it's different going this way. And the truth is, it's kind of a power rush. For some reason, he's thinking about Dorothy, about Oz, about it's magic. In a way, that's how this feels. Like following a yellow brick road to somewhere impossible. Like a tree is growing inside Kevin and bursting through his skin. Like pure creation.

In the background, like fuzzy whispers, he can hear people talking. It's more of them now. Andrea's there. He can hear her and for some reason she's not bothering him. He's listening to her in a way, in the only way he can when he's so wrapped up in this strange writing.

"What's happening?" Dean asks.

"He's being a prophet," Andrea replies. "A real prophet."

Kevin takes a deep breath as he feels the last ounce of that prophetic power pouring from him. He collapsed backwards and lies on the floor, his arms and legs spread as if he's trying to make a snow angel. He's exhausted, but the good kind of exhausted.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dorothy falls down. She's grasping her head. Kevin tries to sit up but he's too tired.

"Dorothy, Dorothy," he hears Charlie's voice. "Is it her? Is it Glenda?"

It's blurry but Kevin can see Dorothy's smile. "She says it's working. Charlie, it worked."

Kevin let his head fall back against the hard wood floor. For once, he didn't fail. For once, he truly felt like Kevin Tran, Prophet of the Lord.

* * *

_Excerpts from 5: Drown_

_"The whole damn place is under water, Sam. What the hell are we supposed to do?"_

_Sam shook his head. "I don't know, but we have to find a way to get out of here. We have to help him."_

_Dean's hearts pounding they've been through a lot, but this is different. It isn't supernatural. It's just a disaster, and Dean is out of his element._

_###_

_"You left Cas!" Dean shouted. "After everything, you just left."_

_"What different does it make? Why do you even care?" Rain is streaming down Cas's face and he's just standing there, not doing anything to push away the moisture._

_"I- I don't know." Dean stares down at the ground, feeling sick to his stomach._

_"Then, I guess there's nothing else to say."_

_###_

_"Sam, Sam!" Dean shouts. "Look." He grabs Sam's arm, turns him around._

_Sam's stomach drops. He sees a flash of red hair amidst the heavy rain. The figure's blurry but Sam still knows who it is. Abaddon._

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think so far. I'd love to hear from my readers :)) Thanks again!**


End file.
